When Hope Was High And Life Worth Living
by cluelessclown
Summary: Enjolras had always thought his only true love was his dear Patria, until he met Éponine Thérnardier on a rainy March afternoon. Little did the two of them know that they would soon need each other more than they had ever thought, and that they would unintentionally change the course of the events surrounding the June Rebellion. E/É.
1. Look Down

**Chapter One**

_In which Enjolras becomes acquainted with the Thérnardier sisters and Gavroche steals some cheese_

...

He had never really stopped to look at her until a rainy March afternoon. All of the _Amis_ had already left the Café Musain, while Enjolras had stayed there, studying maps and books in a corner of their dark meeting point. He had a glass of wine next to him, but he had barely touched it. Unlike his good friend Grantaire, Enjolras had never felt too attracted towards the idea of drowning one's sorrows in alcohol, for he was one to belief that grief should be faced and fought with bravery.

He looked around distractedly as he saw how the owner of the café gave little Gavroche a jar of beer. The boy was only eleven years old, and yet he was braver than many of the students. To Enjolras's surprise, he saw that he wasn't alone – two young women came with them. One of them seemed to be a year or so younger than Enjolras, whilst the other looked only a couple of years older than Gavroche. He wondered who those two were – probably just two fellow urchins Gavroche had brought with him to the café.

He gazed intently at the older girl. She looked rough, muddy and tired, but still he thought he could see something strangely attractive in her unfinished features. While the girls he usually met were round-faced, clean and fancy-dressed, that girl had something that made him feel funny in the inside. He thought he had seen her before, but he couldn't put his finger on the situation.

"'Lo, Enjolras." said Gavroche, trotting over to the young man's table. The boy smiled broadly at him.

"Hello, Gavroche." Enjolras answered, ruffling the boy's hair. He offered him a loaf of bread Courfeyrac had left on the table. The boy gladly took it and showed it to the two girls. The younger girl smiled and took the bread from Gavroche, while the older one seemed strangely annoyed. "Who are your companions, my friend?"

"They're my sisters," answered Gavroche. "That's Zelma," he said, pointing at the younger girl. She looked no older than thirteen, and smiled widely at Enjolras when the boy shook her hand and kissed it politely. "And that's 'Ponine, she's the eldest in our family."

"Nice to meet you, madam," said Enjolras, shaking the young lady's hand. "May I ask, have we ever met before? Your face looks familiar."

"I've seen you before," said the girl briskly, her brown eyes glistening nervously. "I often come with Marius to your meetings."

"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Enjolras happily. He couldn't help but smile broadly at the sight of the girl's lips curling into a small smile. "That's why you looked so familiar to me. Well, Éponine, my name is Enjolras, and I am most glad to have become acquainted with you."

"That's a funny name, Enjolras. Never heard it before."

"That is because it's not my name, but my surname. I greatly dislike to be addressed by my first name, so Enjolras should be fine for now." He smiled kindly at the girl.

Éponine nodded, and the two of them did nothing but stare at each other for a few seconds, Enjolras studying her brown eyes with an incredible attention. Moments later, the younger girl started tugging on Éponine's sleeve.

"'Ponine, Mama and Papa must be looking for us," she said quietly. "Shall we go?"

Éponine glanced one last time at Enjolras before nodding hurriedly.

"Yes. Yes, we'd better get moving." she said. "It's been nice to meet you, _monsieur_ Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded acknowledgingly. "Have a good afternoon, _madames_. I hope to see you here soon."

With a wave, the two sisters were gone. Enjolras sunk into his chair while Gavroche took a seat on a stool in front of him. His books lay sprawled on the table, the maps of Paris now all wrinkled and unused. Enjolras thought of the girl he had just had seen – her beautiful black hair and her endearing brown eyes. She wasn't as beautiful as the girls his mother would usually force him to meet when he was younger, but she had something that made her more attractive than any other.

But why was he even thinking about her? He wasn't a lover, he was a fighter. He fought for freedom and democracy, and his only love would always be his dear Patria. His friends were all crazy about girls, and he was at times the only one to keep them all sane, with the help of his good friend Marius Pontmercy. How could he even _dream_ of feeling attracted towards that girl?

"Aren't you going home with your sisters, Gavroche?" he finally asked the boy, who was sipping his jar of beer.

"Oh, no," answered Gavroche with a wave of his hand. "I don't live with my parents. They've always loved 'Ponine and Zelma and never cared much for me, so I left when we arrived to Paris. Been livin' in the streets since."

Enjolras nodded quietly. He then glanced at the eleven-year-old and raised his eyebrows. "So, Gavroche, is your sister Éponine friendly with the _Amis_?"

Gavroche quickly shook his head. "Nope. She's only friends with that Pontmercy bloke. Zelma says she fancies him, but I'm not sure. S'not like I'd know about that kind of stuff, anyway."

Enjolras nodded again. He blamed himself for thinking about Éponine so much, but he simply couldn't help it. He tugged on his blond hair thoughtfully, trying to find a way to see her again. He thought of her lovely eyes, and how her lips had curled up in a smile when he had kissed her hand. Was Enjolras, leader of the revolution and father of the soon-to-be-formed barricade, falling in love with a girl he had just met?

"Say, Gavroche – do you think your sister would be able to come tomorrow to our meeting?" he asked then. "I'm sure she would enjoy it."

Gavroche shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I'll go find her 'moro morning and I'll tell her."

The older boy nodded happily and gave Gavroche a lopsided grin. He then took one of the books he was reading before his eyes first met Éponine's, only to find out that it was impossible for him to read without thinking of the brown-eyed girl he had just met. He dropped it again with a long sigh, to find that Gavroche was staring at him with a huge smile on his face.

"What?" asked Enjolras, laughing at the boy's mesmerized expression.

"You fancy Éponine, don't you?" inquired the eleven-year-old bluntly, raising his eyebrows.

Enjolras felt how his cheeks heated and shook his head, his blond curls swishing back and forth gently. "No. Of course not. I've only become acquainted with her, Gavroche. How could I have fallen in love with her?"

"I said you _fancy_ her, not that you'd _fallen in love_." said the boy, giggling. "That means I'm right."

Enjolras's cheeks warmed up even more. "How would you say that, Gavroche? Come on, I'm sure you're late to – supper – bedtime – "

Gavroche laughed heartily, hopping off his stool and gulping down the last sips of beer in his jar. Then, he silently made his way to the counter and fished into a small drawer, pulling out a large piece of cheese and a loaf of bread from it moments later. Enjolras chuckled as the little boy waved him goodbye.

"G'night, Enjay."

And with that, Gavroche was gone. Enjolras chuckled to himself as he turned back to the piece of paper in front of him. He definitely needed to get something more done that night. He would have enough time to ponder his feelings towards Éponine later.

Just as he started scribbling on the piece of paper in front of him, he saw how the landlord arrived from cleaning the tables in the upper level of the café. The man opened the drawer so as to make himself a nice bread and cheese treat, only to find the drawer empty.

"Ah, those bloody students," said monsieur Himpens, sighing. "They will be the end of my business."

"We're your main clients nowadays, sir," said Enjolras conversationally.

Monsieur Himpens sighed and raised his eyebrows. "What I'd give to be young and join you little revolutionaries...but for now I just want some cheese and bread."

Enjolras laughed as monsieur Himpens started looking for some food in his pantry. The landlord had grown fond of him after all those nights by themselves in the Café Musain, when the rest of the students and fellow revolutionaries were gone.

"I finally found the bloody Parmesan!"

Enjolras couldn't help but laugh at that.

* * *

Éponine lay wide awake in bed as she stared up at the wooden, moldy ceiling. She could hear her two little brothers' soft snores at the other side of the room, and as always she saw Gavroche's empty bed in front of her. Anzelma lay next to her, but she made no sound. Little Zelma was really silent for everything, not just sleeping – the poor girl was as quiet as a mouse.

"Zelma, you asleep?" asked the girl quietly.

"Hmmm," Anzelma yawned, shaking her head. "No. Can't sleep."

"Me neither," answered Éponine.

"What's botherin' you?"

Éponine tilted her head. How would her sister know that there was something bugging her mind? "Nothing. Why'd you ask?"

"It's harder to sleep when you've somethin' buggin' your mind." stated the thirteen-year-old matter-of-factly. "Perhaps your _beloved_?" she said the last word in a slurring, perhaps mocking tone.

Éponine knitted her brows. She knew that her sister was a lot more mature than most girls her age, but still she would have never dreamed of little Zelma talking to her about such a topic.

"Shut up," whispered Éponine. "Mama and Papa don't need to know about Marius."

The truth was that her sister was right. She hadn't been able to sleep because a certain boy had been haunting her mind – although this time it wasn't the usual Marius, but another boy she had met that day. She thought of his blond curls and his green eyes, and the way he tugged his hair thoughtfully whenever he got stuck while scribbling one of his plots against the Orléanists. She had been listening to his speeches attentively for the past few weeks, and in fact she quite enjoyed them, although she sometimes thought Enjolras was just a foolish rich kid who wanted to play hero in front of his friends. His plans were unrealistic and sometimes rather bland, but she still enjoyed his 'what-if's and his positive thinking. And, she had to admit, he made a quite fine young man.

But why did she even think about Enjolras that way? They had only met, and she was already daydreaming about him? For goodness sake, she loved Marius! Enjolras was a rich bourgeois – how would he even bother laying his eyes on her? He had only been polite when he said it had been a pleasure to meet her. No, of course Enjolras would never feel interested towards her. Marius was her friend and she knew him even better than she knew her brothers, yet Enjolras was practically a stranger to her.

But still, that annoying revolutionary wouldn't leave her mind.

"I wasn't talkin' 'bout Marius," protested Anzelma then. "I mean that boy in the café today. Enjolras."

"Oh, yes. Him."

"Well, whaddya think about him?" asked the thirteen-year-old. Then, she let out a dreamy sigh. "I think he's quite the charmer, you know. And he's _really_ handsome."_  
_

"Zelma, he must be about six or seven years older than you."

"Does that really matter? There are many handsome men in the world." said Anzelma happily. "Most boys my age are idiots. And they're really ugly."

Éponine smiled at her sister's words. She was five years older than her, and she still remembered how she hadn't spoken too highly of the boys her age either when she was thirteen. Of course, she hadn't known Marius back then. And if she had, she knew she wouldn't have thought too highly of him anyway.

"You'd better get some sleep, Zelma," said Éponine, yawning. "You're talking real rubbish."

"You just don't want to admit that you fancy him." protested the younger Thérnardier. "I'm sure that he'd love to talk to you more often."

Éponine rolled her eyes and sigh. "Sure, Zelma. Good night."

"G'night, 'Ponine. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

And with that, the younger Thérnardier cuddled into a ball and let out a long yawn before falling asleep quietly. Éponine was still awake, but she had now closed her eyes. She definitely needed to stop thinking about that annoying revolutionary. She had been so swept up in her thoughts that she had forgotten that she had to visit Marius that afternoon. She blamed herself for having forgotten about her beloved.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite, Zelma," she repeated sleepily as she felt how she started falling asleep.

* * *

**So that was the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. This story will not be too long – fifteen-twenty chapters for the most. I will try to update as frequently as possible!**

**Just so you know, the characters in this story are movie-based. It's been ages since I last saw the musical, so just picture everything with the movie actors.**

**Review, please?**

**E x**


	2. The Bishop

**Chapter Two**

_In which the _Amis_ meet Éponine and Enjolras earns himself a lecture on the hardships of the poor_

...

As Gavroche had told Enjolras, the first thing he did after he woke up was to find his sisters. He would have never dreamed of visiting his parents – he couldn't stand their sole presence. Gavroche might have been only eleven years old, but he already knew that his parents had never loved him. Although this was a bit sad, he had grown used to it – he was now a rather happy urchin and enjoyed visiting his sisters every now and then.

He arrived at the Thérnardiers' grimy shack after a half an hour's walk. Since he didn't want to get noticed by his parents, he climbed onto the house's grimy, mouldy wooden walls, standing on the small windowsills. He was a very skilled climber, given that he was used to sneaking into houses and stealing some money to survive. He could move as swiftly and quickly as a ferret through the streets of Paris: in fact, barely anyone noticed him, being so tiny and silent at all times.

When he finally arrived at the window of his siblings' bedroom, he peered through it with an odd feeling creeping up his back. He saw his empty bunk, next to his little brothers'. He had hoped to find Éponine there, but instead he found Anzelma sweeping the floor with her broom. He tapped the window lightly, immediately catching his older sister's attention. He saw how a smile spread across her face as she walked over to open the window.

"'Lo, Zelma!" he said happily, hugging his sister.

"'Vroche!" the girl greeted him. "What're you doing here? I thought we'd meet later today at Notre Dame."

"Yup," answered Gavroche as he hopped onto his hay bunk, a smile spreading across his face. "We still are. But I need to see 'Ponine first."

Anzelma raised an eyebrow. "Why so?"

"Enjolras wants me to tell her to go to today's meeting at the _Musain_."

"Ooooh, Enjolras. He definitely sounds like a good lad." commented Anzelma as she resumed her task. She cleaned the floor elegantly, which seemed almost ironical due to the fact that she was wearing one of the most ragged and old dresses the Thérnardier family owned – and that was definitely saying something. Despite her humble and poor origins, Anzelma had always been a coquette girl, sometimes being even a bit vain. Her favourite hobby was to stop and gaze at the dresses adorning the beautiful boutique storefronts in the Champs Elysées. Although this would often drive her siblings mad, they knew that it was one of the little things that helped Anzelma cope with her daily chores and hardships.

"He _is_ a good lad," replied Gavroche. "The _Amis_ are all really nice, but Enjolras is the nicest of them."

Anzelma nodded, resting her broom on the wall of the room. "I'll go call Éponine. She's downstairs with our little brothers."

The girl left the room, leaving Gavroche to look around with a sad expression upon his face. He didn't want to admit it, but he sometimes missed the warmth of a place to call his home, no matter how much he hated his parents. He sometimes craved for some company in the dead of the night, when everyone else was sleeping with their families or at least had someone who cared for them. Of course, Gavroche knew that his two older sisters loved him and cared for him, but it still didn't feel quite right to him to lack his parents' love. He knew some fellow urchins who had lost both of their parents, and when he told them that both of his parents were alive and relatively healthy, the little urchins would stare at him in amazing, wondering why on earth was a boy with his parents alive living in the streets, alone, cold and hungry. But somehow, Gavroche even liked it that way.

Anzelma came back with Éponine in a matter of seconds. Gavroche had been so swept up by his thoughts that he didn't notice his sisters' presence until Anzelma coughed loudly, as she usually did whenever she required a little bit of attention.

"Hi, 'Vroche," greeted the eldest of the Thérnardier siblings, taking a seat next to Gavroche in his old bunk. "Why're you here?"

"I'm here as a messenger," said Gavroche proudly. "Enjolras sent me here because he wants you to go to their meeting at the Café Musain tonight."

Éponine felt how something inside her puffed, rather involuntarily. She had been to a couple of those meetings before, but she had never been officially invited to one. She usually went there just to enjoy Marius's company for a little longer, but that day she felt thrilled about actually becoming a part of the _Amis_. Somewhere in the back of her head, she thought that she would also get to see Enjolras again, but quickly tried to shake the thought out of her head. Her heart belonged to Marius, whether did he love her back or not.

Still, the idea felt terribly exciting.

"Sure," she answered then. "I'll go with Marius."

"Meeting's at eight," added Gavroche. Then, he hopped off the bunk and waved his sisters goodbye. "Well, I'd better get moving. I still need to figure out where am I going to eat today. There's a nice _boulangerie _at the end of the street, I believe..."

"I can bring you some bread and ham," offered Anzelma. "There isn't much left, but I'm sure Papa wouldn't be too hard on me."

Gavroche shook his head. "I don't want you two getting in trouble with that filthy little bastard."

"You've a bit of a foul mouth, don't you 'Vroche?" asked Éponine. The boy shrugged – he was used to yelling foul words in the middle of the streets, having learnt all about swearing and insulting from fellow urchins. Along with robbery and breaking and entering houses, swearing was one of the many arts that Gavroche had learned to master in the streets of Paris.

"Bye, 'Ponine," he said. He took off his cap and bowed exaggeratedly at Anzelma. "Zelma, you too. I'll see you later, right?"

"I expect so," answered Anzelma. "Unless Papa calls us for work."

Gavroche nodded, and with that he hopped out of the window and climbed his way back down to the muddy streets, blending into the crowd within seconds.

Back inside the Thérnardiers', Anzelma took a seat next to Éponine on Gavroche's old bunk and sighed dreamily.

"Well, look at that," said the younger sister. "Enjolras has invited you to one of their meetings. I think he _fancies_ you."

Éponine rolled her eyes. Her little sister knew nothing about love, and yet she insisted on assisting the older in her love issues concerning Marius or, as she had been hinting lately, Enjolras. "Zelma, you should really consider looking up what the word 'fancy' means before you start using it so regularly."

"You fancy Enjolras, and he fancies you," said the younger in a sing-song voice.

Éponine sighed. "I thought you knew I love Marius. I always have, and I always will."

Anzelma smirked, "That's because you think Enjolras's not interested in you. But I'm pretty sure he is."

"He isn't," said Éponine. "And neither am I interested in him. Now shut up and get your chores done, or I'll tell Papa you haven't cleaned the house properly."

Anzelma sighed as she resumed her cleaning. Éponine looked at her little sister with a small smile on her face. Despite being so young, Anzelma was mature, and yet such a free spirit – she was the biggest daydreamer Éponine had ever met.

She pondered if Enjolras could really be interested in her as something more than a new part of his little revolution. She loved Marius and she knew it, but it still felt intriguing to think that the boy who never spoke of anything but freedom and democracy could actually become keen on girls. It wasn't like she even cared, she thought – no, _of course_ she didn't care. But she still wanted to know if that Enjolras actually felt something towards her._  
_

And she knew exactly what to do.

* * *

That afternoon, almost every member of the _Amis_ was sitting at the backroom of the Café Musain. Marius and Éponine were late again, as they both had been having a walk before the meeting. Seeing her beloved again almost made Éponine forget about Enjolras and his revolution, until she found herself face-to-face with his blond curls and green eyes.

"You two are late!" he scolded. He was standing on a table, a flag in his hand and his chest puffed with excitement which was undoubtedly related to the speech he was currently delivering to his fellow revolutionaries. "Come on, take a seat and be quiet."

Éponine took a seat between Marius and Grantaire, who was resting his head on the table, a tipsy expression upon his face. Courfeyrac was sitting in the corner, leaning back on his chair and rocking back and forth distractedly. Joly and Combeferre, along with the rest of the students, were listening attentively to Enjolras's speech, their jaws slightly dropped and amazed expressions on their faces. Enjolras's father had passed on to his son the beautiful gift of oratory, which he felt really thankful for – aside from being extremely useful in his speeches, Enjolras hoped that it would also come in handy when he became a lawyer.

Éponine stared in wonder at the boy standing before her, who held the French flag high and spoke gracefully and convincingly, preaching his ideas to every corner of the room. She felt aghast by his words and the ease in his speech – Enjolras was very capable of moving mountains with his tongue.

At one point of the meeting, Enjolras stepped firmly onto the table and cried, "Who's with me?"

Most of the _Amis_ cheered enthusiastically – even Grantaire, who was still a bit off from all the wine he had drunk. Enjolras gave his fellow revolutionaries a smile and, with a small bow, he hopped of the table.

"Anyone else wants to add anything?" asked Enjolras then.

Everyone remained silent for a few moments, until Grantaire cried out, his voice slightly muffled by the alcohol filling his body, "_Vive la France et la démocratie!_"

All of the _Amis_ laughed at the drunk revolutionary, even Enjolras. With a pat on his friend's back, he announced that the meeting was over and that they would meet there at the same time the following day.

Joly, Combeferre and Courfeyrac quickly left the room, along with a few of the other _Amis_. Enjolras took a seat on his usual stool – everybody knew that it was his, so none of the students dared sitting there, even during Enjolras's usual speeches in which he stood on the table – and pulled out a a book and a stack of paper, along with his pen and inkpot. Grantaire let out a loud snore, which meant that he would probably end up spending the night at the Café Musain, until monsieur Himpens found out that he was still there and kicked the poor drunk Grantaire out to the cold streets of Paris.

"Shall we go, 'Ponine?" asked Marius then. "I have to get home early today."

"No, I think I'll stay for a little while," answered the girl. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Marius nodded and waved his three friends goodbye before walking out of the café by himself. Enjolras glanced at Éponine out of the corner of his eye, but didn't dare turn his neck. He felt rather conflicted about that girl: after a good night's sleep he had decided that he couldn't risk the revolution just because he thought that Marius's little friend was pretty. She definitely looked all right to him, but it wasn't the moment for him to think about having a relationship. Enjolras had never been a relationship man, anyway. Why was he even thinking of her that way?

He felt how his heart skipped a beat when she took a seat in front of him.

"Hello, Éponine," he said quietly, as he gazed down at his bag, fumbling for his copy of _The Social Contract_ by Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

"What're you doing?" she asked distractedly, picking up one of his books. _The Republic_, by Plato. She opened the book on the first page and narrowed her eyes as she read the name written with neat black ink. She knew how to read, but she hadn't been exercising her reading skills lately – in fact, she hadn't picked up a book ever since she was about ten years old.

"Don't you know how to read?" asked Enjolras gently.

"Of course I do," she mumbled quietly. "Here says: 'Constance Enjolras'. Is that your mother?"

"In fact, no," said Enjolras. "It says: 'Constantin Enjolras'. And that's me, by the way. But I'd very much rather be called by my surname."

Éponine nodded, and gave him the book again sheepishly. She always felt so stupid when she looked up at those cultured, studious boys. On the other hand, Enjolras felt like the girl, despite coming from a humble family, was witty and determined, which was rather admirable in a woman those days.

"Are you plotting one of your _revolutions_, monsieur Enjolras?" she inquired then. "A glorious uprising to bring the Orléanists down, perhaps?" Enjolras couldn't help but notice her words were edged with mockery.

"What do you mean, mademoiselle?" he asked.

Éponine scoffed. "_Éponine_, if you'd please. I'm no mademoiselle."_  
_

"All women are ladies to the eyes of God and democracy," replied Enjolras kindly. "That is one of the things we are trying to abolish with this revolution. Social classes should not exist – we're all the same in the end."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew the people I've to deal with every day," scoffed Éponine. She glanced around and, when she saw that the only person left in the backroom of the Café Musain was a snoring Grantaire, added, "You're delusional, monsieur Enjolras. This revolution will get you nowhere."

Enjolras felt a pang in his revolutionary pride as the girl pronounced her ideas. He narrowed his eyes at her, and then gazed down and continued scribbling. "If you believe so, mademoiselle, why do you come to our meetings? Why do you clap when I deliver my speeches? Why do you cheer when Combeferre announces good news about new statutes and amendments favouring the poor?"

Éponine fell quiet. As much as she thought that those revolutionaries were only fooling themselves, she still shared their ideas. "Your ideas are great. It's just that this little revolution of yours will get you nothing but trouble. The people are _scared_, Constantin – "

"Enjolras," he corrected quietly, as he highly disliked his Christian name.

"The point is," said Éponine. "That you will only get your friends and most likely yourself killed. If you ever decide to rise against the government, the people will not join you – we're scared, Enjolras. Scared to death. They will not hold a gun if they think that the police might kill them or their family, and they most definitely are not willing to give up on their lives just to uprise against the government."

"The people will come when we call," snapped Enjolras, a bit too harshly for Éponine's like. "Until then, we have to get everything planned."

"_You will just get yourselves killed!_" insisted Éponine angrily, feeling like Enjolras was starting to get on her nerves.

"_I know that we will die!_" cried Enjolras then sharply. Grantaire stirred lightly, and then let out a loud snore before resuming his sleep. Enjolras was now clutching his pen tightly in his hand, and knitted his eyebrows at Éponine. "You just don't understand. I have given up on _everything_ for the cause. I know that most of us will end up dead after uprising – but it's not about living, it's about changing the way our country is being governed." His eyes latched onto hers, as if defying her to say something.

Éponine gazed down. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you boys to die."

"You only care about Marius," grumbled Enjolras as he violently slammed his copy of _The Social Contract_ closed and started collecting his papers. "You're only here because of him." He found out a second later that it actually hurt him to think that that last bit was actually true.

"That is not true," she answered firmly. "It's not all about Marius."

"Then it's ninety percent about him," scoffed Enjolras.

"No, it's not!" mumbled Éponine. "I care for the cause. I share your ideas, and I'm willing to fight with you."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows sceptically as he placed his inkpot and pen into his bag. "I thought you had said the revolution wasn't worth it."

"I haven't said it isn't worth it." replied Éponine. "I want to fight with you. What do I have to lose? My parents only want me for their scams, and no-one really cares about me. Who would suffer my loss?"

"I'm sure many people would." answered Enjolras quickly, feeling guilty about having screamed at her only a minute before. "Marius would. Your little siblings would. I would."

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "We've just met, monsieur Enjolras."

Enjolras felt how his cheeks warmed, and shook his head gently. "You're still a good person. Out of all of us, Éponine, I daresay say you're the only one who has been truly honest to me. And I really appreciate that."

"Thanks, monsieur Enjolras," she whispered quietly. "For accepting my presence in the group."

Enjolras offered her a small smile as he stood up and caught his bag by the handgrip. "May I escort you home, mademoiselle?"

"I'm not sure you'd like to see where I live," she answered quietly.

"Where in Paris, mademoiselle?" he asked kindly. "I'm sure it won't be too far away from my apartment. I live at Boulevard Saint Germain."

Éponine gazed at her feet sheepishly. "Montmartre. The bad side of the quarter."

Enjolras nodded. "Well, that's not too far away from here. I shall accompany you and make my way back home afterwards."

"Are you sure you want to come?" she asked a bit sceptically.

"Of course I do." assured Enjolras. "Besides, it's not too late and I always enjoy walking around the city."

Éponine smiled, and when Enjolras offered her his arm she took it gladly. When they were about to leave the room, Enjolras smacked Grantaire on the head with a friendly expression, to which Éponine smirked happily. Their tipsy friend awoke with a start, only to frown at Enjolras and grumble something as he served himself yet another glass of wine.

The two of them left the café moments later, walking out to the cold Parisian afternoon. There were still some urchins and beggars scattered here and there, and as both of them made their way towards the quarter of Montmartre everything worsened. The streets were littered with thiefs and prostitutes, old beggars sitting with their caps low, hiding their eyes as they studied the two figures making their way through the rue Damrémont, their gazes low and their steps accelerating involuntarily.

As they walked down the streets of Montmartre, Enjolras got to study the girl walking next to him. She was undeniably pretty, and had proved herself witty and ingenious after their discussion at the café. They shared the same ideas despite coming from very different families, and he saw no problem in her social status of urchin and daughter of thieves. After all, social classes didn't matter to him at all – if she was honest, sweet and idealist, what else could matter?

For the first time, Enjolras thought that he actually _might_ feel something towards Éponine Thérnardier. But was he ready to give up his love towards Patria for her?

Éponine, meanwhile, glanced at the boy who accompanied her every now and then. After that afternoon she had come to the conclusion that he was handsome – _really _handsome – and that he had something that she definitely liked. He was cunning, smart, cultured and had a rather strange sense of humor – although he was incredibly talented and idealistic to the core. But he was a bourgeois, and she was the daughter of thieves and former innkeepers. How would he _ever_ feel more than just a keen, educated interest towards her?

As her brown eyes met his, green splattered with grey, Éponine thought that she acutally _might_ feel something towards Constantin Enjolras. But was she ready to give up on Marius for him?

"Here we are." she said quietly, coming to a halt at the front door of the Thérnardier house.

Enjolras looked at the house with a slight frown. He could hear someone screaming inside, followed by the noisy whips of a belt against someone's back. Éponine stiffened and whispered quietly, "_Père_ is home."

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you over to Gavroche's?" he asked worriedly, glancing at the muddy shack where the Thérnardiers lived. "I know where he lives."

Éponine shook her head. "I'm sure my father has gotten mad at little Anzelma because she visited Gavroche today. Hopefully I will get out of this unscathed," she laughed bitterly, although Enjolras saw nothing funny in such a gruesome situation.

"I can talk to your father if you wish." he insisted.

"No, it's all right." she said firmly. "Really."

He sighed and kissed her hand gently before offering her one last smile. "Good night, mademoiselle Éponine. I will see you tomorrow at the café, I expect?"

Éponine nodded happily, feeling how her hand tingled at the feeling of Enjolras's lips on it. "I will try to be there."

With that, the girl pushed the door of the house open and walked inside. Enjolras heard how monsieur Thérnardier started yelling louder, but he couldn't make out the exact words, as he spoke a very burly kind of French Enjolras wasn't familiar with. He cringed when he heard the man's belt whipping someone's back, presumably Éponine's. It made him feel terrible to think that she was only a few feet away from where he was standing and he still couldn't do anything about her father's abusive beating. He pressed his eyes closed as he pictured Éponine's last smile before she entered the house, feeling like Thérnardier's was whipping him too.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps slouching upstairs, and everything remained quiet. As he regretfully made his way back to the Boulevard Saint Germain, he thought of Éponine and the good two hours he had spent with her that day. Truth be told, he could quite get used to spending all that time with her every day. As he walked down the Seine, he smiled giddily and took a look at his copy of _The Republic_, which had been the starting point of their conversation.

Had he really fallen in love with Éponine Thérnardier?

* * *

**As you might have guessed, every chapter is named after the track in the Les Mis movie OST with their number. That means that the story will have twenty chapters I presume.**

**Review, pretty please?**

**E x**


	3. Valjean's Soliloquy

**Chapter Three**

_In which Éponine meets a grumpy drunken and Enjolras gets himself in a fight with Thérnardier_

...

The morning of the twenty-fourth of March was sunny and warm, which was the last thing Parisians would have expected after a week of rain and punctual storms. The weather was brilliant, and the fact that it was Saturday made everyone cheer up – no more work until Monday. Schoolboys would enjoy a nice day at home with their families, whilst workers and poorer citizens would at least get some rest from their tiring jobs.

The Thérnardiers, however, were not feeling cheerful at all. Anzelma was weeping quietly in her bedroom and Éponine held her trying to comfort the younger girl. Both of them had arrived home to find terrible news there: their parents had given their two little brothers away to an old woman who lived in Nantes. No, they hadn't given them away, thought Éponine furiously, they had _sold_ them. The woman had given them twenty francs for each child, which the Thérnardiers had taken gladly. Now their two poor little brothers had been taken away from them forever.

"Shh, Zelma," said Éponine as she tried to comfort her little sister. "They're better off somewhere else. You know _père_ thought that they were just a waste of space, and that _mère _never loved them. At least the old woman will take care of them."

"I miss them, 'Ponine," sobbed Anzelma. "I miss them so much, and they've been gone for just one night. Don't you realize that we might not get to see them ever again?"

Éponine nodded sadly. "I know. But we have to go work now, Zelma. You know _père_ will get angry if we don't find men to steal the money from."

Thérnardier had recently found a new way to get money: his eldest daughter would lure wealthy-looking men into a corner of their street and then Thérnardier and Anzelma would knock the man out and take his money. Of course, this new method was relatively safe – the men whom Éponine was told to attract were usually lanky and not too well-built – and profitable, although it was completely groveling for Éponine. Not only did she have to dress like a prostitute to catch the targeted man's attention, but also had to do some of it if the man seemed to resist her charms. She couldn't bear the idea of slowly falling into the lowest social class, the worst of the worst, but still had to do it if she didn't want to get beaten half to death by her father.

She sometimes thought of running away, but then realized that Anzelma wouldn't be able to survive on her own with their dreadful parents. They already suffered a lot – Éponine couldn't even imagine what would happen if she suddenly disappeared and left her little sister all by herself, under Thérnardier's money-thirsty claws.

"GIRLS!" called madame Thérnardier from the lower level, which was a single room that had been fashioned into a blend of a kitchen, a living room and the Thérnardier parents' bedroom. "GIRLS, YOUR FATHER WANTS YOU DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW."

Éponine stiffened, and Anzelma quickly rubbed her glassy eyes with the back of her muddy hand before standing up quietly.

"We could find Gavroche, you know." said Éponine in a faint whisper as they both made their way downstairs. "Just run away from this and live with him in the streets. There isn't much difference, is there? Here we're starving too. We're always cold, we're always thirsty. Our parents don't care for us."

Anzelma shook her head and gave her sister a sad smile. "I know they don't care for us, 'Ponine. But I wouldn't be able to live without them."

Éponine felt a little taken aback by her sister's curious, but strangely wise words. As much as their parents abused her, Éponine knew that Anzelma needed a place to call home and a permanent bed to sleep in. She was only thirteen, after all, and not half as brave as Gavroche was.

When the two sisters arrived at the ground floor, they found their father waiting for them impatiently at the door. He was tugging his reddish hair with an exasperated look on his face, his equally ginger sideburns bouncing up and down in an impatient manner. When he saw that his two daughters were there, he sighed and pushed them out of the door without even saying goodbye to his wife.

"_Père_, we haven't had breakfast," pointed out Anzelma, as the three of them walked down the street.

"Oh, sorry _mademoiselle_," said Thérnardier in a tone of mockery. "I never knew that you high-class ladies must have breakfast every day."

Anzelma gulped, and felt how her older sister squeezed her hand gently as they made their way to their usual place of work – the rue du Seine, near the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Thérnardier had found an old abandoned shack there, where they could easily take their poor victims and stripe them off all of their prized possessions. There hid Thérnardier and Anzelma until Éponine had targeted and lured a man into the house.

Once they were there, Thérnardier patted his elder daughter's back and grunted, "You'd better do well, child. I don't feel like hitting you two too much today, but I will have to if you don't behave."

Éponine gulped. "Don't worry, _père_. I will do my best."

Thérnardier gave his eldest something like a smirk before hurrying inside the shack with Anzelma. Éponine simply stood there in the middle of the street, looking for men who could become potential victims of her father's scam. She rubbed her arm awkwardly, as the few people who were passing by the street glared at her disapprovingly. Most of the men walking down the rue du Seine were either too big for her father to handle them or too poor to have anything that Thérnardier would consider valuable.

A few minutes later, she saw a man who held a bottle of whisky in his hand and seemed to stumble down the streets on his way back to his house. He didn't look too strong or too fast – surely her father would knock him out in no time. He also looked reasonably wealthy, which would please Thérnardier to no end. Éponine tried to look confident as she approached the drunk man and blatantly caressed his cheek.

"Oh, my," she said, like her father had taught her only a few days before. "Monsieur, you look exhausted. Would you like to rest in my house." she felt a pang of anger inside her as she winked her eye at the drunk passerby. "And perhaps we could do something more, rather than just resting."

The man immediately looked up from his whisky bottle to Éponine. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his teeth went from a pale yellow to a deep black around the incisors. He looked oddly familiar, although she thought she had never seen him before. Éponine involuntarily took a step backwards, but the man grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close again.

"Well, look at this lovely lady," he whispered. "If it isn't the woman who took all of my money the other day!"

Éponine's heart skipped a beat. She suddenly remembered the man – her father and she had taken all of his money and jewelry only a week ago, at that very same place. She gulped and tried to back away, although the men held her even tighter, pressing Éponine's body against his.

"You'll finish this, you _slut_," he whispered, his voice full of derision. "You will regret what you did."

Éponine felt how her heart started beating so hard that she could swear it would ultimately rip her chest open. The man pushed her against the wall of one of the houses and started kissing her hungrily. Éponine tried to get him off her, failing repeatedly. She shook and even tried to scream, but the man wouldn't let her move an inch. She felt his hands creeping under her dress as hot tears started racing down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and prayed for someone – or something – to help her, given that she knew that her father would not move a finger for her.

"HEY! YOU!"

She opened her eyes wide again as she heard the familiar voice yelling at the drunk man in front of her repeatedly. The man, who was currently working on unknotting Éponine's corset, stopped abruptly and turned around. As soon as his lips left Éponine's, the girl bent down, trembling, and threw up on his shoes.

"_What do you think you're doing, you_ bitch?" he yelled angrily, hitting Éponine on the head with his whisky bottle. Éponine winced, rubbing the vomit out of her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked up to her savior.

In front of them stood Enjolras with an outraged expression. He had dropped his handbag and two books onto the cobbled street, and was currently standing in front of the drunk man, who laughed derisively.

"What on earth do you think you were doing to this young lady?" he asked angrily, pointing at the drunken.

The man laughed. "Chill, boy. She's just a slut. Stole my money and ran away with it the other day."

Enjolras took a deep breath and pointed his index finger at the other man. Éponine had never seen him so mad at anyone.

"_Never – dare – call – a lady – such – a thing – in my – presence_," Enjolras breathed. His cheeks were starting to redden in sheer anger and his eyes shot a malice towards the drunken that Éponine had never seen in those green orbs. "Particularly her."

"What are you going to do about it, you little schoolboy?" asked the man with a snort. "You can have her later, boy. I came here first."

Enjolras balled his fists and punched the drunken's face with a swift movement. The drunk man staggered backwards and tried to punch Enjolras back, but the student blocked his movement swiftly and punched him yet again on the nose. The drunken fell backwards and glared at both of them angrily. Éponine shivered from head to toe, whilst Enjolras stood beside the man with his green eyes shooting daggers at the drunken.

"_Off you go_," said Enjolras, a scathing tone in his voice.

The man somehow managed to pull himself up and scurried out of their eyesight after grumbling, "This won't be the end of it, I swear."

Once the drunken was out of their eyesight, Enjolras turned to face Éponine and his whole expression seemed to relax. He saw the girl trembling in front of him, all weak and scared, and couldn't do anything but pull her into a hug, resting his cheek on top of her head. The girl sobbed quietly onto his chest for a few minutes, feeling how he softly caressed her hair.

"Shh, it's all right," he whispered soothingly. "It's all right, 'Ponine. He's gone. He's gone..."

Enjolras felt her greasy hair under his chin and wondered how would Éponine look if she wasn't so dirty and wore better clothes. He was sure that she would become sheer beauty – not that she wasn't already, although he felt like there was a lot more to Éponine Thérnardier than what simply met the eye. She wasn't just a street urchin, she wasn't just a girl who obeyed her abusive father blindly – she was much, much more.

After a few minutes of silent crying, Éponine looked up at Enjolras, who offered her his handkerchief with a kind smile. It was very beautiful, embroidered with fancy patters and with his initials embroidered in red: _C. E._. The girl took it and cleaned her face, handing it back to the boy afterwards.

"No, you keep it," he said gently. "I have a few more at home."

Éponine nodded quietly, and decided to blow her nose before speaking. "Thank you very much, m'sieur Enjolras – "

"Please, don't call me monsieur," he asked. "To you I'm just Enjolras." He picked up his handbag and books and looked at the girl again. "Look, Éponine, I don't want to sound impertinent...but what happened? Why was that man...doing that to you?"

At first Éponine was a little reluctant, but she ended up telling Enjolras the whole story, from her father's schemes to how she had stolen all of the drunken's money only a week ago. Enjolras listened attentively, a stern expression upon his face, nodding every now and then. When the young lady was done, he sighed and rubbed his temples thoughtfully, as if he were processing all of the information he had just been told.

"I'll go talk to your father," he said firmly. "I you don't have to do this. It is absolutely denigrating and you deserve a lot better, 'Ponine."

"No," she said hoarsely. "Enjolras, don't go talk to my father. He'd kill me. He'd kill _you_." Éponine couldn't help but think that the sole thought of her father trying to hurt Enjolras made her heart shatter.

"I have to," he affirmed insistently, walking up to the shack where Thérnardier and Anzelma were currently hiding. "I will not allow this."

Despite the tense situation, Éponine couldn't help but smile. How come Enjolras cared so much for her? He had just punched a man in the face and comforted her, and now he wanted to save her from her father's abusive schemes. Definitely, Constantin Enjolras was one heck of a young man.

She paced up behind him and followed the student into the small shack. It was small, grimy and stunk to dead rat. The walls were covered in what seemed a rather grotesque black painting, which was starting to stripe down from the pass of the years. Enjolras's eyebrows knitted at the sight of such a dreadful place, but said nothing. Éponine stood behind him, shuffling her feet uncomfortably.

Only a second later bolted out from his hiding place monsieur Thérnardier, who seemed more than ready to knock Enjolras off. Anzelma followed her father, but stopped on her tracks when she realized who the young man was.

"Enjolras!" she whispered.

Thérnardier turned around quickly, furrowing his brow at his younger daughter.

"_What_, Anzelma?" asked the man impatiently.

"That's – that's one of 'Ponine's friends," said Anzelma quietly. "Please don't hurt him."

Thérnardier turned back to Éponine and Enjolras, who was now standing with his arms crossed. Thérnardier licked his lower lip impatiently and snorted at the two of them, who looked so different yet confident in what they were doing together.

"A _friend_," smirked Thérnardier, studying Enjolras closely. "Of course. Because my little 'Ponine would be friends with a bourgeois. This young man's vest is more expensive than our entire house, and you want me to believe you're _friends_?"

Éponine gulped. She feared the moment when her father would get tired of just talking and would start using his fists – which would undoubtedly come soon. Enjolras, however, shook his head and tried to reason with monsieur Thérnardier – something not many people would have dared to do.

"Monsieur," he said in a polite tone. "It is true that I am friends with Éponine. I came here because I thought you would want to know that, as I walked down the street, I found a drunken trying to do very improper things to your daughter. As her friend and an advocate of justice, I would kindly ask you to let her get a job somewhere decent, instead of using your daughters for such misdemeanors."

At first, Thérnardier simply stood there, glancing at both young people standing in front of them with his brow furrowed. Then, after Enjolras's short speech, the former innkeeper snorted loudly and spat to his side.

"Do you _really_ think I would let this little jewel go to waste in a factory?" asked Thérnardier then. "Men find her attractive. We need money, boy. It's just the way it goes."

"You could get money in a more honest way," insisted Enjolras. "And you wouldn't risk getting caught by the gendarmes passing by."

Thérnardier knitted his brow. "I'll do what I want with my daughters." He stepped towards Éponine, trying to reach out for her arm, but Enjolras stepped between them, narrowing his eyes. Éponine noticed again the angry gleam that had filled those beautiful green orbs only a few minutes ago.

"No." said Enjolras firmly. "I will not allow you to exploit her this way."

Thérnardier snickered and raised his eyebrows at Enjolras. "Do you think that a little schoolboy like you will stop me from fetching my daughter? _I will do as I please with her!_" He yelled that last bit, the wooden, moldy black walls shaking lightly.

Enjolras shook his head. "No, you won't."

And with a swift movement, Enjolras grabbed Éponine's hand and pulled her out of the shack, running up the rue du Seine. The girl looked backwards and saw Thérnardier running behind them, but the older man got tired within a few minutes and came to a halt by a lamppost, gasping for breath.

"Enjolras!" she exclaimed. "_Enjolras!_ Where are we going?"

"I don't know," admitted Enjolras. "Away from your father, I suppose."

After running for a good twenty minutes – slightly jogging or pacing every now and then – the two of them arrived at the Quai Malaquais, which had one of the most beautiful views of the river Seine in the entire city. The two of them descended the staircase that led to the dock, and sat on the cold stones, gasping heavily and looking at the beautiful view that lay ahead of them. After a few minutes, Éponine giggled.

"Thanks," she whispered. "That was fun."

"Yes, it was," chuckled Enjolras. He gazed at the river quietly for a couple of seconds before looking at Éponine again. "How are you feeling?"

"Conflicted," answered Éponine truthfully. "I would have never even dreamed of running away from my father like that. It's been not only fun, but also really refreshing. Like I've finally realized that I can run away from him whenever I need to, right?" Enjolras nodded quietly. "But now I'm also fearing tonight, whenever I get back home and father finds me there. He is already such a brute man, I can't imagine what will he do." the sole thought of meeting Thérnardier's belt for the second day in a row sent shivers down her spine.

"You don't have to go back home." said Enjolras then.

Éponine raised her eyebrows at Enjolras. "I can't live in the streets, if that's what you're suggesting. As much as I hate my house and parents, it's the only place I can call home."

"You don't have to live in the streets," said Enjolras. "You – well, you could stay at my apartment. I'm sure the landlady will not mind, and I have a spare bed you could use. I know it is not – well – proper for a _mademoiselle_ to stay at a man's house if they're not related or married, but I'm sure no-one will mind your presence too much."

Éponine bit her lower lip. The sole idea of spending a day with Enjolras sounded so tempting, yet she knew that she wouldn't be able to stay out of her father's grasp for too long. Besides, as Enjolras had said, it wasn't proper _at all_ for a woman to stay at a man's house, particularly an urchin like her at a bourgeois's apartment.

"I don't know, Enjolras," she said quietly.

Enjolras offered her a small smile. "Please. I insist."

Éponine remained quiet for a few minutes, but then gave him a small smile in return. "All right. But I'll go back home tomorrow night."

Enjolras grinned and nodded. The two of them remained silent for a few minutes, each of them staring at the beautiful view in front of them, lost in their own thoughts. Right then Enjolras decided to make Éponine happy, at least for the day and a half that lay ahead of them. She would never forget the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of March of 1832.

Moments later, he offered Éponine his hand. "Want to come, _mademoiselle_?"

"Where to?" asked Éponine.

Enjolras shrugged, raising his eyebrows with a funny expression upon his face. "Paris is enormous and terribly beautiful, mademoiselle. We can go wherever you want."

Éponine smiled, taking Enjolras's hand. As her fingers linked with Enjolras's – almost perfectly, she noted – she noticed that she had never seen him this excited, not even at his meeting with the _Amis_.

And that was definitely saying something.

* * *

**Hope you liked the chapter! I don't have much to say, so here you go. I have my GCSE's over next week, so I suppose I won't be updating until Friday or so.**

**Review, pretty please?**

**E x**


	4. At The End Of The Day

**Chapter Four**

_In which Éponine gets acquainted with Voltaire's_ Candide_ and Enjolras has a rather bright reflection on Patria and the people of France_

...

The first thing that Enjolras offered to Éponine when they both arrived at the student's apartment was a hot bath. As he got the water in the bathtub warmed up, Éponine looked around Enjolras's flat curiously. To a bourgeois it would have seemed quite simple, but to her it was simply delightful. It had a big living room with very comfortable armchairs and a huge bookcase full with all sort of books, from classic novels to the French Constitution and the Bible. The huge crystallized windows offered them a beautiful view of the Boulevard Saint-Germain, which roamed with life and people walking up and down right then. She knew that there was yet another bedroom inside, in which Enjolras usually slept.

A minute later, Enjolras came back to the living room, only to find her staring at the books in the bookcase. He rested against the doorframe with a lopsided smile on his face as the girl indecisively took one of the many novels and opened it carefully – Enjolras quickly recognized it as Voltaire's _Candide_.

"It's a really good novel," he said from his place at the doorframe.

He saw how Éponine shivered lightly and quickly placed the book back inside the bookcase. "I'm sorry, m'sieur – " she whispered. "I didn't intend to – "

"Oh, that's not a problem at all," said Enjolras quickly, walking up to her. "Take whichever book you want to read. And I've already told you that I'm no _monsieur_ to you."

Éponine gave him a small smile. "All right. What is this book about?"

"It's a bit of a picaresque novel," explained Enjolras as he held his copy in his hands. His grandfather had gotten it signed from Voltaire before the French Revolution, when Jean-Jacques Enjolras had been about his grandson's age. "It talks about the adventures of a really naïve boy, Candide. I used to read it all the time when I was about twelve years old – it's brilliant."

Éponine nodded slowly as she meekly flipped through the book. She then left it back in the bookcase and turned towards Enjolras. "Well, I suppose I'd better get that bath done."

"Yes," mused Enjolras, rubbing the back of his head. "Yes, I suppose that's a good idea. I – I found one of my sister Valérie's old dresses, so I suppose you could keep it. She lives in Mont-Saint-Michel now."

"You didn't have to," she whispered. She then looked down at her dirty green dress. "I can manage with this."

Enjolras shook his head. "I insist."

With an awkward wave of her hand, Éponine entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her as Enjolras took a seat on one of the many armchairs in his living room. The girl took off her dress and slowly slid into the bathtub. She hadn't had a bath in ages – if you didn't count the cold water that her mother splashed onto her face every now and then, that is. She felt how the first layers of mud covering her skin started disappearing, and after a couple of minutes of silence she picked up a body brush and started scrubbing all of her body thoroughly. She saw how her skin became much lighter, and how the slight dirty odor that usually came along with her started disappearing.

When she felt satisfied with her body, she proceeded on to cleaning her hair. She got all of the dirt and mud out of it and then washed it with some of Enjolras's soap to get the grease off it. When she looked down at the water, she saw that it had turned almost black from all of the dirt. She felt a bit ashamed about it, but on the upside her body was now polished and clean.

She slipped out of the bathtub and saw Enjolras's sister's dress. It was a white, spring dress with a blue lace around the waist. The sleeves went to her elbows and it definitely looked like it would suit her well. On top of it she found a silver hairbrush and white slippers. After pulling the dress and shoes on, she dried her hair with a hand towel and combed it with the hairbrush, smiling gladly when she saw how her dark brown hair looked after a good bath. It was now clean and a bit puffy, with a perfect volume and slight waves that suited her face perfectly.

She smiled contentedly and decided to walk out of the bathroom. Outside she found Enjolras skimming through his old copy of the _Quixote_ in an original Spanish version. When he realized that she was there, however, he quickly shut the book closed and looked up at her, only to feel completely aghast by Éponine's new image. He had always thought that she was rather attractive, but right then he felt like she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

"Does it fit me well?" asked Éponine. "I worried about being too thin – "

He smiled. "It suits you perfectly, 'Ponine. You look astounding."

Éponine blushed.

"No-one has ever said such a thing to me before," she mused as she fidgeted with the edges of her skirt absentmindedly.

"Well, they should have," he said, standing up. He then offered her a kind smile. "You're beautiful."

Éponine gazed at her new white slippers, feeling how a blush crept up her cheeks. She then eyed casually the book that Enjolras held in his hand and snatched it away from him with a playful expression on her face. "What's this?" She flipped the book open only to find a bunch of words she didn't understand.

"It's Spanish," said Enjolras carefully. "An original copy of the _Quixote_ by Miguel de Cervantes."

Éponine's jaw dropped. "You know Spanish?"

Enjolras nodded. "Yes, quite fluently I daresay. As a child I learned Spanish, English, Italian, Latin and Classic Greek. My father was an important lawyer, and he wanted me to know as many languages as possible. My governess was Spanish and didn't speak a word of French, so I took practically all of my classes in Spanish, English and Latin."

Éponine wished she could have had a life like Enjolras's as the boy told her all about her father, his old governess and all the things he had learned during his childhood. She would have become a fine lady and married a nice man – someone like Enjolras, for instance. She would have those wonderful baths every day and she would have pretty dresses to wear. Enjolras would think she was _always_ beautiful.

Little did she know that he already thought she was the most beautiful girl in Paris.

She quietly dropped the _Quixote_ on the table. She felt slightly disappointed with herself, but she didn't want to blame Enjolras. He had been so kind and such a good friend, she didn't want to seem ungrateful for everything he had done. The boy kneeled beside her, and took her hand gently.

"What's wrong, 'Ponine?" he asked.

"I – " she whispered. She knew she couldn't tell him – how it ached her to know that they came from very different worlds and they weren't even supposed to be friends. Instead, she went for something simpler. "I'm hungry."

"I think we can fix that," said Enjolras, gently pulling her up from the armchair. When she looked up at him, Enjolras smiled. "I know a place near the Trocadéro which I'm sure you will love." With that, he offered her his arm, which the girl took gladly.

Both of them left Enjolras's apartment with high expectations of that day and soft smiles on their faces.

...

The afternoon of the twenty-fourth of March went by brilliantly. Enjolras and Éponine shared a nice, stomach-filling lunch at a small inn near the Trocadéro, where Éponine was allowed to eat as much as she wanted. After that, both of them shared a long walk down the riverbank, talking about this and that and getting to know a little bit more about each other. Enjolras found out about Cosette and Éponine's life in Montfermeil, when she was just a little girl. He learned of the time when Gavroche ran away from the Thérnardiers', and when Cosette was taken to Paris by an old convict by the name of Jean Valjean. He found her childhood intriguing, although rather depressing: she had been her mother's little girl, always pampered with toys and good clothes, until Cosette was taken away and someone had to do the chores.

Éponine got to know a lot more about Enjolras's past on that March afternoon. She learned of his life as a bourgeois, with his father, who died when Enjolras was eleven, and his mother, who now lived in Mont-Saint-Michel with his older sister, Valérie, his brother-in-law Germain and his little nephew, Jean-Pierre. Enjolras also had another sister, Gabrielle, but she had died at age fifteen, soon after their father's death. The death of the two persons he was closest with completely changed Enjolras's life – he gave up on almost everything and started forging his own ideals, which were rather different to the ones he had been taught up until then.

"So you're telling me that you gave up all your expensive clothes, good books and delicious food just for the cause?" asked Éponine sceptically as they made their way down the riverbank.

Enjolras shrugged. "Yes. Besides, it's not like I gave up on _everything_. I still have quite a lot of money, and I can afford some bourgeois-y things, like today's lunch," he chuckled silently.

Éponine blushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't," said the boy. "I suppose I'm used to that kind of comments. Most of my friends still live with their parents or close relatives – I'm sure you're acquainted with Pontmercy's grandfather, aren't you?" Éponine nodded quietly, remembering the old man who had wrinkled his nose at her presence at the gates of the Pontmercy house when she had visited Marius one day. "Combeferre and Courfeyrac live with their parents, and Grantaire has an uncle who sends him money every month – the poor lad spends it all in wine and liquor, I'm afraid," he chuckled.

An awkward silence followed Enjolras's words. The boy just stared firmly at the river next to them, whilst Éponine fidgeted with her dress absentmindedly. She _really _loved that dress.

"So you told me you want to become a lawyer, Enjolras?" she asked, trying to break the silence a little later. "Why so?"

"I'm surprised you haven't guessed that one already," he teased. He then felt how his chest puffed in pride as he spoke the words he had told his friends over and over for the past few years, "I want to become a lawyer because I feel like the people of France need a firm defender of their rights."

"Oh, right," sighed Éponine, a slightly sad edge to her words. "All for the people. Patria is your only mistress, right?"

Enjolras stopped to look at her with a quizzical expression on his face. "I never said that, 'Ponine."

"Yes, you did," said Éponine. "Plenty of times, in fact. At the café."

Enjolras's eyebrows rose cluelessly as he distractedly kicked a small stone on the pavement. His hands were now stuck deep in his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face. He gazed down at the cobblestones and wondered what had made him change his opinion about love. Why was he dwelling over Éponine when he should be plotting a rebellion? And what did he care if she knew that he loved Patria above everything else? He closed his eyes for a second, dreading the answer the only possible answer that came to his mind.

_You're in love with Éponine Thérnardier._

Éponine, fearing that she might have offended him, added, "Is she?"

"Is she...who?" he asked as he opened his eyes to glance at her.

"Patria."

"What's wrong with Patria?"

"I mean...is she really your one and only mistress?"

Enjolras's expression went thoughtful for a second. Then, his eyebrows relaxed and he smiled kindly at Éponine. "No, of course not. Patria is one the most important things to me right now, and I will always be there to fight for France – but you know, she is not the only."

At first, he felt guilty. Was he really willing to give up all of his rebellious efforts just to be with a woman he had just met? He most definitely wasn't. But he looked at it that way: Patria was his mistress – France was his mistress. Éponine was a small part of the French population, but it somehow felt to him like she was the most important part of it to him. He could love Patria and Éponine at the same time, couldn't he? Just as if the two of them were only one.

He smiled as he saw how she shyly looked down at her shoes, something she did whenever she felt nervous. Over only a few days he had learned plenty of things from Éponine Thérnardier – and he was willing to learn a million more.

_Yesterday I was alone, today you walk beside me. Something still unclear, something not yet here has begun._

* * *

**Sorry for the short, bland filler chapter. This wasn't my best at all. I'm currently going through the worst week of my life, aka January GCSE week. I don't even know how did I manage to get this typed – I've Math and History tomorrow, so I'd better go study now.**

**Review and you'll get a short preview of the following chapter via PM!**

**E x**


	5. I Dreamed A Dream

**Chapter Five**

_In which Enjolras's family visits him and Éponine gets acquainted with a wooden elephant_

...

The following weeks were rather calm and nice. Éponine and Enjolras got to know each other really well – in fact, so well that the other _Amis de l'ABC_ were starting to tease him about the girl. Of course, Enjolras would reply by firmly shaking his head and saying that they were all speaking nonsense, returning to his speech a second later. Combeferre, however, had been questioning him the previous day about women in general, until Éponine's name finally popped into their argument. Although Enjolras had tried to deny it all along, his best friend had started suspecting.

Around the middle of May, on a calm and beautiful morning signaling the summer's arrival to Paris, Enjolras opened his flat's door to the sound of a little boy giggling happily and two adult voices whispering hurriedly as a third one complained for the billionth time that day.

"Why did we have to come?" groaned Ursula Enjolras. "_He_ could come visit us sometime."_  
_

Enjolras opened the door to find his mother with a smug facial expression on her face – which was nothing new. She was the average bourgeois woman, middle-aged with fancy dresses and poor manners towards those who didn't have as much money as she did. His sister, who was now twenty-four, held a little four-year-old toddler in her arms, whilst a man on his late twenties shook Enjolras's hand politely.

"It's great to see you, Constantin," said Germain Consigny, his brother-in-law. "How are you doing at university? The Sorbonne nonetheless." Germain was a wealthy doctor who had always been fond of his wife's little brother. Germain had a kind, laid-down expression, with a bushy brown beard, equally brown hair combed backwards, blue eyes and small silver-framed glasses.

"University is coming along well, thanks," he said. He then kissed his mother and sister's cheek and ruffled his little nephew's hair. "It's great to see you all. Are you going to stay overnight?"

"Yes," said Valérie. "We are staying at the _Hôtel De Gramont_. Mother wanted to visit some _boutique _at the _Mairie_, so I thought we could come visit you first."

Enjolras nodded. "I can go with you if you'd like."

"It won't be necessary," said his mother stiffly. Enjolras saw in her eyes the same obnoxious gleam that had haunted him through his entire childhood. She then examined the doorframe with her eyebrows knitted. "This looks dreadful, Constantin. You really need to get yourself a maid."

"I don't need maids, thank you," answered Enjolras, equally stiffly. "I don't believe fellow human beings should be paid for cleaning what I litter."

Ursula rolled her eyes and simply turned around. "Do whatever you want, Constantin, I'm going to talk to the landlady. Hopefully she will be able to find someone to fix this mayhem you call your flat."

And with that, his mother disappeared down the staircase. Germain and Valérie briefly shared a worried glance as Enjolras let them inside his little flat. Jean-Pierre hugged his uncle tightly. "Uncle 'Jolras!"

Enjolras couldn't help but smile. His nephew looked a lot like him when he was his age, but with Germain's blue eyes and a slightly darker but equally curly blond hair. The last time he had seen him – Christmas Day of the previous year, when his sister had finally managed to drag their mother to Paris – Enjolras had taught his nephew not to call him 'uncle Constantin' as his mother told him, but 'uncle Enjolras'. Of course, being his name a bit of a mouthful for a four-year-old, the little lad called him 'uncle 'Jolras' with all the cheer inside his little body. Little Jean-Pierre had many uncles and aunts from his father's side, but being Enjolras his godfather and the friendliest one, he was the little boy's favourite uncle.

"How are you doing, kid?" he asked, scooping his little nephew into his arms. "Are you going to school already?"

"No uncle 'Jolras," giggled Jean-Pierre. "Mummy says I'm too little, but I want to go to school."

Enjolras faked a bored expression as he looked at his sister. "Oh, Valérie, why don't you let the boy go to school?"

Valérie giggled as she took her only son from her brother's arms. "You can be so silly at times, Constantin."

The law student winked an eye at his nephew. "Only when my little buddy is around."

Jean-Pierre laughed happily and then turned to his mother. "Mama, I want to be like uncle 'Jolras when I grow up!"

Valérie smiled at this, and so the toddler grinned happily and hugged her. Enjolras looked at both of them with a smile plastered on his face. The three of them looked so happy...he saw how Germain rubbed the back of his son and then turned to Enjolras again.

"Well," said Germain. "We have also come here to tell you something." he shared a glance with his wife and announced, "We're expecting another child."

Enjolras's initial surprise was quickly replaced with a big smile. "That's fantastic!" he exclaimed. He shook Germain's hand and kissed his sister's cheek as his smile became even wider. "I'm really happy for both of you."

Germain smiled. "If it's a boy, we will name him Arthur – after your father, of course. And if it's a girl, we will name her Aria, after my little sister and godmother."

Enjolras nodded. He then gave Germain and Valérie a honest smile. "I'm really happy for both of you. I wish I could visit more often, but university has gotten me all swept up in studying and reading and attending lectures – " He mentally added to that list his meetings with the rest of the _Amis_ but thought it wasn't the time to mention them.

"I know," said Germain kindly. "I'm sure you'll get to visit us more often when you finish university and get a job. What do you want to do? I'm sure you would make a great attorney, or a judge even."

Enjolras shook his head. "I would like to become a labour lawyer. You know – help the less favoured and try to improve the country's situation."

"Ah, but that wouldn't give you too much money, would it?" asked Valérie with a rather stern tone. "You need to do something useful, Constantin. As Germain said, you would be one great attorney."

Enjolras sighed. He had had this discussion with his sister and brother-in-law previously – although they were nice people, they completely missed the point of Enjolras's ideas. They did not share his point of view about Louis Philippe d'Orleans, and of course did not approve of his Republican ideals.

After a long, awkward silence, Germain announced, "I will go find your mother. I'm sure the poor landlady is getting one of her rants again."

"Can I go with you, Papa?" asked Jean-Pierre, who was currently playing with one of Enjolras's pens and had his cheeks and nose smeared with ink. Valérie and Enjolras smiled as Germain took his handkerchief out, cleaned his little son's face and scooped him up in his arms. Germain then bent down to kiss his wife's cheek and Jean-Pierre waved goodbye to Enjolras, who gave him an acknowledging nod and a small smile.

When the two siblings were left alone, Valérie moved over to sit next to her younger brother.

"I'm sorry if we have bothered you," she said softly as her brother distractedly picked up his copy of Aristotle's _Politics_. "You know we only want you to be happy."

"I _am_ happy," said Enjolras.

"You live in a small flat, alone and surrounded by books," retorted Valérie. Then, she let out a small chuckle. "Yes, it definitely suits your concept of happiness." She then let out a long sigh. "Mother always said you were different to the other kids. Instead of playing around and looking at girls, you spent practically all of your childhood reading and writing. You had that friend of yours – Combeferre, wasn't that his name? Yes. Jean-Jacques Combeferre. I thought he would get you to do _something_ – like the rest of the boys your age. And instead, the two of you just locked yourselves inside Papa's old library and spent the day reading about Voltaire, Rousseau and Montesquieu."

Enjolras chuckled, reminiscing those days of his adolescence, after he met Combeferre at school. They had only been fifteen back then, but they instantly became the best of friends, as Combeferre, although coming form a wealthy family, shared his point of view about the hardships of the poor – despite taking them in a more philosophical way, which would later on lead him to becoming the best Philosophy student at the Sorbonne.

"You know I have always liked it that way." said Enjolras, shrugging.

Valérie nodded. "I'm not blaming you. It's just – well – I wanted to ask you how are things going. Have you met anyone nice lately?"

Enjolras instantly understood what his sister meant and rolled his eyes. "Valérie – "

"No, wait," said his sister. The woman took a deep breath and said, "I want to know. I know I haven't been the best sister in the world, particularly when we were little – but I still care a lot about you and want you to be happy."

Enjolras sighed. It was true – his sister hadn't been the nicest when they were younger. He had always thought that she was jealous of how Gabrielle and he got along, but when their older sister died, both Enjolras and Valérie became a lot closer.

"I know," said Enjolras then. "I – well, it's just that I don't know if I have met the right woman."

"You don't know?" asked Valérie. "Last time I visited you told me you hadn't and never would. What exactly has happened, little brother?"

After a short moment of hesitation, Enjolras let out a resigned sigh and told Valérie all about Éponine. He told her everything, except that she was the daughter of two scammers and lived in the slums of Montmartre. He simply told his sister that Éponine was a friend of his good friend Marius Pontmercy, whom Valérie had met the previous year. After his long explanation, a smile appeared on Valérie's lips.

"But why, this girl seems to suit you!" she exclaimed happily. "She definitely sounds like a great person. You said her name is Épopine, right?"

"Éponine," Enjolras said quickly. He then felt how the corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily as he pronounced her full name, "Éponine Thérnardier."

"Oh, the name rings a bell to me," said Valérie. "Is she related to Georges Thérnardier, the rich businessman from Nantes?"

_Of course she isn't_, Enjolras thought immediately. But instead, he shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't met her family yet."

"Oh," said Valérie, who was a true defender of polite relationships, always approved by the girl's parents. "I see. Well, she definitely sounds like she will be the perfect wife for you."

Enjolras sighed. Of course, his sister didn't get his point. _Again_.

"You're speaking nonsense, Valérie." he said as he gazed out of the window. His older sister had always been one to tease him about girls and his 'fondness of Patria', as she called it, so he found it strange that she was actually interested on Éponine instead of just teasing him all the time.

"Well, I have never heard of any girl who has looked attractive to your rebellious eyes, Tintin." she said. Enjolras couldn't help but roll his eyes at both her sister's statement and how she had used his childhood nickname, which he had started loathing when he was around seven. "Besides, it looks like she is an – interesting girl." Perhaps because Enjolras had forgotten to tell Valérie that Éponine was no bourgeois, but the daughter of two scammers and former innkeepers.

Enjolras still felt reluctant about discussing such a matter with his older sister. He could hear his mother yelling at the landlady only a floor under them. His mother's voice had always been rather shrilly and a bit annoying to those who weren't used to it – she barely approved of anything Enjolras did. Had it not been for Valérie and Germain, Enjolras thought that his own mother would have forgotten about him.

"You know, Germain asked me the other day," she said. She quoted her husband's words faking his low voice. "'Valérie, when is your brother going to find himself a good woman and have children? He's getting old.'" Valérie then returned to her usual voice level and added, "That's what I think too, Tintin. I understand that you need to finish your law studies – but the three of us are looking forward for little Enjolras children running around the house."

Enjolras felt how he got slightly flustered. His family knew nothing of his political activities – they knew practically nothing about him, anyway. They had come to a point in which he wasn't any closer to them than their distant cousins in Switzerland were. But then again, Valérie was his sister, and sisters do seem to have a knack for love issues, don't they?

"D'you reckon I should talk to her?" he whispered feebly then.

Valérie nodded firmly. "As soon as you can."

Enjolras nodded. "Very well then. I will."

Would he?

...

The Consigny-Enjolras family left later that morning, leaving Enjolras to ponder what his sister had told him. Did Éponine _really_ suit him that much? As far as he could tell, he did feel something deeper than just friendship towards her, but he had never thought that he was the kind of man who would get married and have children – not in the next ten or fifteen years, anyway. But then again, everything seemed to have changed ever since he first met Éponine Thérnardier.

_Maybe I should talk to her_, he thought as he eyed his bookshelf. He smiled when he remembered how she had praised his fluent Spanish and his book collection. _I haven't seen her for a few days anyway_.

He nodded, feeling convinced. Dropping the book on the small table and walking over to the door. He yanked his coat from the rack and quickly walked out of his flat, racing down his stairs and letting his feet lead him to Montmartre.

What was he going to tell her? That he loved her? He didn't even know how to tell a woman that she was pretty, how on earth was he to tell Éponine what he felt after knowing her for barely two months?

An old man and a blond-haired girl dashed past him when he arrived at the Café Musain. He briefly glanced backwards, surprised by the rushed footsteps of the strange pair. Perhaps a father and his daughter, he thought. He didn't bother to look back again, deciding that they must have been just two bourgeoises in a rush. He sighed and resumed his walk, whistling softly.

He found the police blocking the street leading to the Thérnardiers' house. He glanced curiously between two mounted policemen – he had never been all too fond of this kind of authority, as they were _Orleans's toadies_, as Grantaire usually said. He saw a man that he quickly recognized, though – it was Thérnardier, Éponine's father. He quickly made his way through the onlooking crowd. The woman standing next to him must have been his wife, madame Thérnardier. His nose wrinkled as he realized the state their clothes and hair were in – they were the lowest of the lowest. Of course, Enjolras would not blame them if he hadn't known Éponine, because he would simply think that they were just two poor urchins who were trying to survive. But after learning from all their scams and how they abused Éponine and her siblings Enjolras felt simply sick with the sole vision of Thérnardier's face.

"Where has he gone?" asked the policeman standing in front of them. Enjolras couldn't make out the inspector's face, but he somehow knew that the Thérnardiers were now in deep trouble.

Thérnardier shook his head feebly, as if to tell the policeman that he didn't know where the man had gone. Then, however, he slowly approached the inspector, his words trailing behind him.

"In the absence of a victim, dear inspector, may I go?" asked Thérnardier. He then pulled out his dirty, muddy handkerchief and brushed it against the inspector's jacket. "And remember when you've nicked him that it was me who told you so?"

Enjolras saw how the inspector ignored Thérnardier and, with a disgusted expression, turned around and commanded his policemen to look for the man Thérnardier was talking about. Said that, the gendarmes left the street and the onlookers started scattering away from the scenery. He saw how the Thérnardiers hurriedly picked up everything in their reach and made their way back to their house, where Azelma was supposed to be cleaning._  
_

Only then did he notice two people standing at the end of the street. The man looked completely aghast, staring at something that seemed to be nowhere in his sight. The girl stood by him with a lost expression. He recognized both of them immediately: they were Marius and Éponine.

He tried to make out what Marius was saying, but he was too far away from them. He didn't dare getting any closer, for he did not want to be seen. He observed Marius's overjoyed expression and Éponine's small smile. They talked hurriedly, but he could finally make out something that Marius said right before embracing Éponine tightly.

"That's fantastic, 'Ponine!"

Enjolras felt how his heart dropped when he saw Éponine was smiling contentedly at Marius. Of course, how could he have forgotten that Éponine's heart belonged to Marius Pontmercy? He felt how his chest started aching and he had to look away from the pair of them. How had he been so foolish? How had he even dreamed that Éponine would have forgotten about Marius? It was plain to see that all those afternoons together meant no more to her than a strong friendship.

He miserably took a seat on a _boulangerie_'s doorstep as he held his head in his hands and wondered if this was how Éponine felt every time that Marius looked at a girl who wasn't her.

* * *

**Well, there you go! Another chapter done. Just a short comment – in the musical/movie, Marius sees Cosette for the first time on the same day of Lamarque's death, but I have changed the whole scene to about the twentieth of May. That's called a creative license, right? Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter – I feel like Enjolras is really OOC here, but I just don't know how to improve it.**

**Review for a preview of the following chapter!**

**E x**


	6. The Confrontation

**Chapter Six**

_In which Marius almost earns himself a black eye and Éponine has to clear a very strange mess_

...

Enjolras saw how Marius waved goodbye to Éponine and marched off towards the _boulangerie_ where he was sitting. Enjolras felt sick to his stomach when he saw the giddy smile on Marius's face as he approached him. He felt how the misery he had felt only a few seconds ago quickly turned into something different – something that made his chest feel tighter and made him want to scream at Pontmercy. He didn't feel sad anymore – the momentary misery of having seen them together had been replaced by anger, accompanied by a pang of jealousy. When the redhaired student noticed the leader of the rebellion sitting on the doorstep of his favourite _boulangerie_, his eyebrows rose.

"Enjolras!" Marius said cheerfully. Enjolras bitterly noted that his friend couldn't look happier. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you care, Pontmercy?" snapped Enjolras angrily. His eyebrows knitted as Marius looked at him in surprise. "Just go find Éponine and – do whatever you were doing before."

"What are you talking about?" asked Marius. "I – Éponine is now on an errand. Why in the world should I – ?"

Of course, Marius could be _really_ thick when it came to feelings and love, particularly those involving Éponine Thérnardier. Everyone in the Café Musain knew that the girl was deeply in love with him, and yet Marius simply couldn't see that – which irritated Enjolras more than ever when he stood up and glared at his old friend.

"You were never there for the cause," he spat angrily. He didn't even know why was he suddenly willing to punch Marius straight in the face, and tried to reason for a second – but for once he, the maximum reasoner, the king of the plotting, didn't need a plan to follow. "You bloody Bonapartists. You're everything but loyal."

Marius frowned. "What is all this nonsense about, Enjolras?" He demanded, an angry edge to his words now.

"Oh, now the little Baron wants me to explain," mocked Enjolras. He narrowed his eyes briefly at Marius. "Well, perhaps _you_ should tell me what happened only a few minutes ago. If there is any sort of reasonable explanation, that is."

Marius's eyebrows knitted for a second and then his expression turned into a soft, giddy smile. Enjolras couldn't help but think the boy couldn't be thicker even if he tried. "Oh, you mean _that_!" said Marius. He seemed to have forgotten about Enjolras's previous scathing words, for he was now smiling giddily and glancing up at the sky with the most stupid expression Enjolras thought to have ever seen. "Well – you must have seen what's happened, I assume."

"Yes, I did," said Enjolras slowly. His frown became deeper with every second Marius spent smiling, along with his desire to punch the redhaired revolutionary on the face.

Then Marius let out a hearty laugh that annoyed Enjolras to no end. "Well, you must understand, my dear friend – it's called _love_!"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Enjolras balled his fists and glared at Marius with his eyes narrowed. "How can you even talk of _love_, you idiot? How can you babble about loving when the poor girl's been following you _everywhere_ since she first met you, and the only thing you've done ever since is to pretend you can't see how she looks at you? You are so lucky to have her, and you realize _now_?"

Enjolras didn't notice nor care that most of the passerby had stopped to look at them with curious expressions. He was now breathing heavily, his hands trembling lightly and his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he tried not to hit Marius Pontmercy.

"What are you talking about?" asked Marius, whose eyes were now as wide as saucers. "You – you haven't _seen_ her!"

"Oh, _of course I have_," snorted Enjolras. "I saw you two together. How you embraced her, how she smiled – how _sweet_."

Marius frowned for a second and then shook his head quickly. He was starting to get scared by his friend's suddenly violent attitude. Of all his bad traits – because Enjolras, like any other human being, had plenty of flaws – Marius had never even dreamed of counting violence as one. He had never seen Enjolras hit anyone, and it already hurt him to think that his good friend might end up hitting him if he didn't get out of this mess.

"Enjolras, wait – " he started.

It was completely useless, as Enjolras couldn't hold his anger back any longer and swiftly punched Marius on the face, his friend staggering backwards as he covered his nose and yelled out in pain. Everyone held a breath as the leader of the rebellion glared at Marius, his eyes now full of loathe and with a glimpse of misery that hadn't quite left his green orbs yet. The boy simply glanced around and made his way through the crowd, getting amazed stares and worried looks from most of the onlookers. A group of schoolgirls had gathered around Marius and were now trying to assist the boy with his bleeding nose.

"What's happened here, 'Vroche?"

Enjolras momentarily turned around when he recognized a very familiar voice behind him. He saw a little boy with dirty blond hair and blackened teeth with an older girl standing with him. He shivered when he realized it was Éponine and hastily tried to make his way through the crowd faster.

"What's happened?" Éponine asked to one of the old ladies who had been watching the two bourgeoises fighting in their low-class street.

Marius was now standing up with a handkerchief covering his nose and leaning against a wall. His head ached and he didn't know what had just happened, but to his uttermost surprise Éponine didn't run to him as soon as she arrived – instead, she briefly asked him if he was okay and then proceeded to looking for Enjolras.

The boy, however, had already snuck out of the street and was walking down a damp, empty alleyway. He felt his heart beating at an alarming rate, and how his hand throbbed from how he had punched Marius's face. Of course, he now regretted deeply having hit his good friend – but then again, something completely new to him had taken hold of his body.

He wanted to get lost, to run away from everyone else. He didn't want to see anyone in a few days – not even his friends, not even his comrades from the _Amis de l'abaissé_. He just needed to think, to get his mind settled – he had obviously fooled himself with the whole idea of _loving_ someone. He wasn't made to love, he was made to fight – and that was all that he would do from now on.

He found a small corner in the alleyway where he thought he would be able to get a mildly acceptable seat. He dropped onto the cold stone and, closing his eyes, he leaned his head on the cold wall behind him. What on Earth was happening to him? Why couldn't he simply stop feeling how his heart soared whenever he thought of Éponine, why couldn't he simply forget about that bloody girl? There were so many questions running through Enjolras's head, and yet he felt like he didn't have an answer to most of them. For one second, he bitterly thought that he finally knew how Éponine felt whenever Marius ignored her.

He kept his eyes closed, absentmindedly hearing the sound of water drops falling onto a small puddle next to him from the roof of one of the many houses in that street. He tried to keep all thoughts out of his head, and to simply relax for a minute. He heard footsteps approaching him, but he didn't bother – they sounded small and light, so he assumed it would be just a little street urchin passing by. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, however, he opened his eyes quickly and found himself face-to-face with Éponine Thérnardier.

At first, he didn't know what to do. He didn't dare move, although his eyes opened as wide as saucers. Éponine's expression remained serious. He then realized that she must be furious at him – more than that, if even. However, he didn't see her yell, or scream, not even scold him. She simply looked disappointed. And this, Enjolras realized a few seconds later, hurt him more than the loudest scream the girl could have possibly mustered.

"What happened, Enjolras?" she asked quietly.

He gazed down at his hands as he tried to figure out what he could possibly say to logically explain why had he punched Marius straight in the face. It felt a little bit ironical – he, the boy who never looked down, who always stood tall and ferocious and knew what to say in every moment, was now doubting. Doubting more than he had ever doubted before.

"I don't know," he whispered finally. "Marius got me all winded up."

Éponine shook her head calmly. "I know he winds you up most of the time. Almost everyone does," she couldn't help but let out a chuckle at that, which was son followed by a soft one from Enjolras. "But I know you would not have punched him for that."

Enjolras felt momentarily amazed about the fact that Éponine knew him so well. He could barely hold a smile – until he remembered the rather difficult situation he found himself in.

"You're right," he said finally. "Of course it wasn't just because of that. I – well, he just got me really angry."

"Why so?"

Again, Enjolras found that he didn't know what he wanted to say. "I saw him with you in the street earlier."

Éponine's serious expression faltered lightly at the mention of her encounter with Marius earlier that afternoon, when he had first seen the girl he now swore to love. "Oh." She gazed down – this wasn't so strange in her, for she was a rather insecure girl. "Well – all he did was to ask me to figure out where his new beloved lived. I still don't understand why would you hit your friend like that."

Enjolras's eyebrows knitted. "What do you mean, _his new beloved_?"

Éponine shrugged. "Yes. Her name is Cosette. They saw each other in the street only a few minutes ago and Marius completely fell for her."

What confused Enjolras the most wasn't the fact that he had completely misunderstood his friend's intentions, but how Éponine seemed barely bothered by the fact that Marius had found the girl of his dreams. Wasn't she in love with him? Wasn't she supposed to mourn her beloved's new love interest instead of talking to him, the leader of the _Amis de l'abaissé_?_  
_

"I – I'm surprised by your reaction, 'Ponine," he said. "I would have expected you – "

"To spend the afternoon sobbing in the corner of a dark alleyway?" she asked ironically.

Enjolras gave her a small smile. "I was going to say that I would have expected you to be devastated."

"Oh." said Éponine quietly. She looked at Enjolras for a couple of seconds, and then gazed at the other side of the alleyway with an absentminded expression on her face. "I might have felt that way a couple of months ago, but not now."

"Why so?"

Éponine gazed down as if she were looking for something in her dark, muddy hands. "I don't know. I feel like everything has changed so much in such a short space of time – like things are nothing like two months ago. Know what I mean?"

_You've no idea_, thought Enjolras bitterly. He merely nodded.

"But," said Éponine. "That still doesn't explain why did you hit Marius. He's one of your closest friends, 'Jolras."

Enjolras couldn't hold back a small smile when Éponine used the nickname she had given him only a few weeks after having met him for the first time. Of course, he would have never allowed any of his friends to use it – Grantaire had called him _Jolry_ once and he had received a rather hurting smack on the back of the head with Enjolras's copy of Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_ – but he allowed Éponine to use it because, well, she was Éponine._  
_

"I got angry because I thought you had finally told him that you love him," he said bluntly. He felt how blood started pumping in his ears as he gazed down, not daring to meet Éponine's brown eyes.

For a moment, neither of them could hear anything but the other's soft breathing. Enjolras pressed his eyes closed and wondered why in the world had he just said that – had he gone insane?

"And why would you get angry about that?" she asked. Enjolras couldn't help but feel a slight, almost indiscernible happy tone to it. "I thought you were my friend and that you would be happy if Marius loved me."

At first, Enjolras considered not looking at her again for the rest of his life. But a second later, he found himself gazing up at Éponine and meeting her brown eyes with a newfound security.

"Of course I wouldn't." he said quietly. "You don't even know what's happened to me ever since I met you, do you?" He paused for a second and then breathed in quietly. "The moment you walked into the Café that afternoon, everything changed. Over the next few days I got to know you to such a degree of familiarity that I could swear I've known you since I was an infant. And along with you came new emotions, a new perspective – something I thought of as completely stupid before I met you.

"I've never really believed in love, you know. All of my friends do nothing but babble about their beloveds and how they wouldn't be able to live without them, and up until I met you I thought they were just going insane. Have you ever heard of this thing, the power of a glance?" Éponine shook her head lightly. She was simply staring at Enjolras in sheer wonder. "Well, someone said once that love at first sight is overrated. I agree. But what if – what if first glances were the start of everything? There would be no love without a first glance. Whether if love comes immediately after that first glance or not, I do not know nor care. But it's that first glance – the first glance we shared – that really changed me, 'Ponine. And of course, everything that came afterwards."

For a few seconds, none of them dared breathe a word. Then, in an almost dashing movement, Éponine gently pressed her lips against Enjolras's. At first, the boy involuntary tried to pull away, but a second later he realized what was happening as his mind reeled. He pressed his eyes shut, enjoying the taste of her lips on his, feeling how his heart soared as his tongue meekly made its way into the girl's mouth –

"'PONINE, 'PONINE!"

The girl quickly pulled away when they heard little Gavroche trotting down the street, followed by a couple of his friends. A blush crept up her cheeks as soon as she glanced at Enjolras, who couldn't do anything but smile. After a hesitant second, Éponine whirled around and gave her brother a wide smile.

"What's up, 'Vroche?" she asked.

"Louis and Mignon've told me they know a good place to fetch some food!" the boy exclaimed happily. "D'you wanna come?"

Éponine glanced at Enjolras, and then turned back to her brother. "Sure, I'll go."

The eleven-year-old grinned pleasantly. Then, he turned towards Enjolras and giggled, "Hi, Enjay."

"Hello, Gavroche," said Enjolras, a smile on his face. "It's nice to see you."

Éponine, meanwhile, had stood up and looked at Enjolras with a small smile. "Well, goodbye. I'll see you soon."

"But – " started Enjolras, who didn't want her to leave so early.

"I'll see you today at the café," she said. Her smile widened as she added, "I'll be there in time."

Enjolras nodded eagerly, and then watched how Éponine left the small alleyway, the three boys trailing behind her. After a few seconds, he let out a long sigh, and for the first time he felt how a huge smile spread across his face and made him feel better than ever. It was a feeling he had never felt before, at least not in such an intense way.

It was love, he believed.

* * *

**Wow, I feel like this story's just getting worse. Anyway, I'm not on my best mood today, so I hope you'll forgive me if there are any typo's or grammar mistakes but I really don't feel like reading through the whole thing again. ****Oh and the whole 'power of a glance' thing is a massive reference to the book. So yeah.**

**Review for a preview of the following chapter!**

**E x**


	7. Castle On A Cloud

**Chapter Seven**

_In which Thérnardier strikes again and Éponine climbs up a wooden elephant_

...

"Bye, 'Ponine!" exclaimed Gavroche. "See you tomorrow at the café?"

Éponine nodded as she nibbled on an apple they had just stolen. "See you there, 'Vroche. Take care!"

After that, the eleven-year-old hurried back into the dark streets of Paris. Éponine smiled to herself as she absentmindedly made her way back home. She kicked the small black cobblestones in the street with a small smile on her face. Within a few hours a new day would rise – and with it would come seeing her little brother again, sharing another meeting with the _Amis_ and of course, seeing Enjolras. She had not been able to talk to him much that night – he had been so swept up in delivering his daily speech and getting Grantaire to drop his wine bottle that she had barely been able to say hello. But still, he had gazed at her from time to time – and, as far as she and Combeferre could tell, he had never set his green eyes on someone with such a kind, loving expression.

She found herself smiling as she slid into her parents' house, already daydreaming about the following day. She dropped the remainders of the apple on a small dish at the table, and then sat on her father's armchair, with a dreamy expression on her face. She couldn't wait to see Azelma's face when she told her all about Enjolras and what had happened that day – she felt sure her little sister would be really happy for her.

She was so swept up in her own thoughts that she didn't hear how a pair of feet made their way towards her until it was too late.

"What'd you think you're doin' up this late, young lady?" asked Thérnardier, his grayish eyebrows raising at his daughter. "You know you need to be home before sunset."

Éponine looked up at her father gingerly. She saw on his face that he was really angry – perhaps he had already hurt her little sister. Her jaw tightened at the thought of Azelma's tiny beaten body lying in their bedroom, sobbing quietly.

"I had some business down in Montmartre," she quickly lied. "I had a meeting with a few friends."

Thérnardier snorted. "So now my daughter has become a _whore_. How pleasing."

Éponine felt how her cheeks heated up at her father's words. He had changed so much ever since Cosette left their inn – he had passed from loving her dearly to simply not caring about her. He had become obsessed with money, and had forgotten about his children, even his wife at times. He was reckless and had a fierce temper, which usually led to hard beatings and insults to his two daughters. Gavroche hadn't been able to stand it – he had left the house at age nine, and lived inside a wooden elephant in Les Halles ever since. Éponine wished she was strong like her little brother, but always found herself sitting at the front door of her parents' house whenever she tried to run away.

"I'm no whore, father," she whispered quietly. "You know I am friends with nice people."

"What, that cheeky bourgeois from the other day?" he spat, as his daughter reminded him about Enjolras and how the student had run away with his daughter. "They're no friends of yours, Éponine. They're from an upper class, they think we're scum."

"Enjolras doesn't," said Éponine firmly. "And neither do the _Amis of l'ABC_."

Thérnardier snorted loudly. "_Les Amis de l'ABC_? What on Earth is that?"

His daughter shook her head. "You wouldn't understand, _father_." she had grown used to calling him 'father' instead of 'Papa', particularly after Gavroche left. "They might come from wealthy families, but they've given up their money and possessions for the cause."

"And what is the goddamn cause, girl?" asked Thérnardier, who was starting to get angry. "Do they want more money? Do they want fancier clothes? Prettier, cleaner girls, perhaps? Sweeter whores? Those bastards have _everything_ they want! They surely don't need nothing from us, the scum from the slums!"

Éponine stared at her father for a second, taken aback by his sudden rage. His usually mocking, tricky expression had now changed into a dry, unfathomable one – the girl felt how the hair on the back of her neck stood on its edges as she saw how her father approached her, his eyebrows knitting and his lips tightening.

"My friends want to give the poorer a better life," she said bluntly. "They want everyone to be treated as equals and to end Louis-Philippe d'Orleans's monarchy." Enjolras's exact words came back to her mind, and she felt just a little bit more confident. "They want to free our country from injustice and grievance."

Thérnardier looked at his daughter with a more than sceptical expression set upon his face, his sideburns sliding down his jaw as his lips tightened. Éponine took a second to appreciate her father's graying hair – it looked nothing like his carrot orange hair from years ago, back when he called her _his 'Poni_ and played with her every day.

Back when Éponine still cared for her father and saw him as her hero.

"Fancy words for a girl from the slums like you," spat Thérnardier finally, now standing right in front of Éponine with his arms closed. "I'm tired today, so I will let you get away this time. But I warn you," the man pointed at he with his index finger, his brown eyes now looking steely and emotionless. "If I ever – _ever__ – _see you with one of those damn schoolboys again, you'll regret it more than you can imagine."

Éponine should have nodded and walked back to her room. She should have gotten into her bunk and quietly cried herself to sleep, consequently disobeying her father's will the following day and visiting Enjolras or any of the other _Amis_. That was what she _should_ have done, ergo not what she really did. She just sat there, her eyes expressionless, defying her father's cold stare until she heard a faint voice behind Thérnardier._  
_

"'Ponine?"

She craned her neck, trying to look at the girl who had just called her. When she finally caught sight of her little sister, she saw, to her horror, that the thirteen-year-old had her left eye black and swollen and sported whip-like scars on her arms. The girl stood behind their father, looking as tiny as ever and making Éponine leap up from the couch and make her way to little sister. However, Thérnardier was quicker than her and caught her right arm, tightening his grip so that Éponine felt a dreadful, distressing kind of pain.

"What do you think you're doin', lil' brat?" cried Thérnardier, shaking his eldest by the arm.

"I'm gonna leave this house," said Éponine. "I can't stand it here. You whip poor little Zelma – for Heaven's sake, she's only thirteen!"

"You think you're gonna be able to survive in the streets like your foolish brother, don't ye?" asked Thérnardier in the most scathing tone he could muster. "Well, let me tell you something – life outside is rougher than you think, so you'd better think it twice before you leave this house."

Éponine sent a defiant glare towards her father. "What do I care? I spend the whole day outside this bloody house already, for Heaven's sake. I don't want to come back." She glanced at Azelma, who was standing behind their father, trembling and with her eyes brimmed with tears. Éponine flashed an apologetical look towards her and said, "I'll come fetch you as soon as I can, pup."

Azelma gazed down, not daring to give her sister an answer in front of their father. Thérnardier, however, shook his eldest's arm and slapped her across the face. "If you dare to leave this house, you will never be welcomed again, and I will not _care_ if you're starving or injured or even dying. You will be no daughter of mine anymore."

Éponine felt something aching inside her chest as she heard her father's words, but didn't dare to move. She just stared at his brown eyes defiantly – a pair of brown eyes that were almost identical to hers. She wondered how could she have looked up at her father when she was little, reminiscing the good old times with her dear Papa and how everything had changed ever since Cosette left their inn. How Thérnardier had rotten with the pass of the years and had turned into a devious, cruel man, she did not know – all she wanted to do was to run away but at the same time wished she could embrace him and be held by her Papa like in the days of her youth.

"I shall leave then." she whispered, feeling how tears brimmed her eyes, willing to make their way down her cheeks as she thought of the father she was about to lose – in fact, she had lost him long ago, back when she was still an innocent girl and thought that life was just as easy as her dolly games.

Thérnardier stared at her for a second, a look of pity mixed with shame and a slight regret, along with touches of disgust, brimming his brown eyes. He finally released Éponine's arm and watched how his eldest scurried out of the house without looking back. He somehow hoped that his daughter would return within the next few seconds, but then quickly shook his head – what did he care? Éponine was nothing but a nag to him and his wife, and they still had Azelma. She was a bit young, but they could work with her if they mended some of Madame Thérnardier's older dresses and got her some make-up.

He doubted for a second, and then turned around to meet his little Azelma's eyes. His brown eyes were now steely cold, and as they met hers – grey like her mother's – he whispered, "If I ever – _ever _– learn of you talking to your siblings, you will regret it for a year."

Azelma still didn't dare to move, but simply did a faint nod. In the back of her head, she wondered if Éponine would really come back to rescue her from her parents' rotten, rusty hands.

* * *

Éponine felt how the midnight air chilled her to the bone. There was not a soul left in the streets of Paris. She made her way down to Les Halles, wondering where on Earth was she going to go now. She firstly thought of paying a visit to Enjolras, but quickly discarded that idea – it would be impolite of her to show up at such an hour at her friend's house.

She stopped for a second as she wondered about Enjolras. He wasn't just his friend, but perhaps it was too soon to call him her _beloved_, which was the word that many of the _Amis_ used when they talked about the women they loved. She found the word 'beloved' too posh, and then wondered if Enjolras would want to have a _beloved_ at all. He definitely wasn't the kind of man who would spend his spare time bragging about his _lovely future wife with whom he is so deeply in love with_.

She smiled to herself as she reached Les Halles. The sky was now clear again, although her scuffed boots were still soaked from walking on puddles and the slight drizzle that fell on top of her every now and then.

_Now, there_ is_ somewhere I could spend the night!_, she thought as she found herself in front of the beautiful wooden elephant where her brother Gavroche lived with his two friends Louis and Mignon.

She studied the structure for a second, and wondered how could she possibly contact her brother, who was likely to be sleeping inside. She knocked the elephant's leg thoughtfully, but to no avail. There wasn't a soul in the whole Les Halles area, and it was starting to get _really_ cold.

She finally found a couple of ropes hanging down the elephant's back, and assumed that was how the three children climbed up and down their wooden elephant. She hesitantly pulled one of them and, when she decided it was strong enough to hold her weight, she started pulling herself up, with the help of the elephant's wooden structure and the other rope. When she finally reached the elephant's head, she found a hole on top of it and peered inside, finding the three little boys huddled together, playing with a deck of cards Éponine quickly recognized as the one that had gone missing from her father's belongings only a few days ago.

"'Lo, 'Vroche!" she exclaimed, waving at him from the top of the elephant's head.

The eleven-year-old immediately looked up and beamed when he found his older sister peering through the hole. "'Ponine! What are you doing here?"

"I decided to leave," she said simply. She then offered her brother a small smile. "For good."

The boy's grin widened. "Great! We're a bit crowded here – but Mignon can sleep in the trunk as he's the youngest, can't he?" his friend Mignon, who was only a couple of inches above four feet tall despite being eleven years old, nodded. Gavroche looked up at his sister again and motioned her to slide down to their sitting area, and Éponine quickly did as she was told.

She sat with the three little boys, watching how they innocently played card games that would have most certainly ruined them had they placed bets on the results – but luckily enough, the three of them were still innocent children who only played cards for the sake of being together, laughing and arguing in a friendly way.

A little later, Mignon slipped into the elephant's trunk, and Louis slid down to his small bunk in the elephant's bottom. Éponine and Gavroche got to share the place where the elephant's guts would have been found had it been made of flesh and bone. The girl lay down with her little brother next to her, feeling both thrilled about her new life out of her father's grasp but also worried about what might become of little Azelma.

"Why didn't you go to Enjay's?" asked Gavroche then. "You know he would have gladly taken you in. You coulda been sleeping in a comfy bed, you know."

Éponine shrugged. "I don't want to be a nag. Besides, I'll see him tomorrow – if I see him at all, that is."

Gavroche frowned as he turned on his back to face his sister. "Whaddya mean, _if you see him at all_?"

"I don't know," Éponine answered, shrugging yet again. "I've been feeling strange about him for the last few hours. I've been wondering if he really wants to have me as his _beloved_ or _lover_ or whatever or if he just thinks I'm – "

"For Pete's sake, Éponine," said Gavroche, rolling his eyes. "You two were kissing before, which was disgusting by the way," the boy stuck out his tongue briefly as his older sister ruffled his hair playfully. "But I think he loves you, 'Ponine. Zelma told me that the other day, you know."

"Zelma thinks he loves me from the first time he saw me." chuckled Éponine.

Gavroche shrugged. "Who knows? I think she's right."

After that, Gavroche let out a loud yawn, and so Éponine pulled his old, tattered blanked over him and kissed him goodnight, feeling how her brother's little hand grasped her thumb before letting out a little snore. She had missed those sweet little snores so much...as she closed her eyes, lying next to Gavroche inside the wooden elephant, Éponine knew that her life was about to change. For good or for bad, she was yet to know.

Hopefully, Enjolras would be there with her to hold her up if everything went wrong.

* * *

**So there you go. I think this chapter was okay, although Enjolras wasn't in it. But I promise the following chapter will be solely dedicated to him and a small E/É moment towards the end!**

**You know how this works – review for a preview! The longer the review the happier you make me.**

**E x**


	8. Master Of The House

**Chapter Eight**

_In which the _Amis_ meet and Enjolras tries to live through his own teasing hell_

...

The following afternoon, neither Gavroche nor Éponine went to their daily meeting with the _Amis_. Now that Éponine had left the Thérnardiers, she didn't have to participate in her father's scams – but she still wanted to try to find a honest job, instead of making a living from robbery. So the two siblings spent the entire day looking for a job that might have suited Éponine, but to no avail. They were kicked out from every single factory, house or shop they visited. Éponine thought she should try to contact Enjolras and let him know that she had finally left her parents' house, but the thought that he would not leave her alone until she agreed to move into his apartment made her think it twice.

Meanwhile, the students were already gathering at the Café Musain. By that time, a lot of the boys were still missing, so Enjolras had decided to pull out his notebook and start scribbling his theories and various plotting, as well as his thoughts. He felt a bit dull ever since the previous day – focusing on his plotting ideas, yet having his mind somewhere else. He vaguely wondered what was wrong with him before he thought he knew the answer, a smile crossing his handsome features.

He shook his head. He had always known that something – _something_, perhaps the most stupid thing in the world – would come across his way to revolution, but he had never even dreamed that it would be loving a woman. He absentmindedly thought of his _Romeo and Juliet_ copy back home and thought, chuckling, _I can't believe I'm actually going through what I believed a load of rubbish only a month ago_.

Enjolras only looked up from his messy scribbles when he felt how someone patted his back.

"Well, look at our marble-carved leader," snorted Courfeyrac in a friendly tone. "Falling for Éponine nonetheless, or so I've heard."

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he tried to bear with his friends' teasing expressions. The others would arrive soon but, for the time being, it was only Courfeyrac, Combeferre and an already tipsy Grantaire standing in front of him. The three men took a sit each around Enjolras, Combeferre sitting next to his good friend. Grantaire took another bottle of absinthe, which made Courfeyrac sigh as he usually tried to take the bottle away from the drunkard.

"I knew this was going to happen," said Combeferre, patting his best friend's back. "I knew that Éponine girl would change you for good."

"How do you three even know that there's something going on between us?" replied Enjolras, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip from his glass of wine. He hardly ever ingested hard drinks before their meetings, but he somehow felt like he would need some alcohol running through his veins for that day's meeting – particularly when Marius arrived. He had never been one to apologize easily, but he knew he should tell his friend that he was sorry about their small confrontation on the previous day.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" asked Grantaire, hiccuping lightly as he took a long gulp from the bottle. "The way you look at her – the way she looks at you."

"Besides, Gavroche told us yesterday that he saw you two kissing." concluded Courfeyrac, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.

Enjolras sighed, not knowing if he would be able to bear with his friends' chuckles and teasing for much longer that afternoon. He merely picked up his pen and resumed his writing, trying to sound calm and oblivious. "It is none of your business, you three."

"So you've just admitted we're right." chuckled Combeferre.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and gave his friend a defeated look. "We _might_ have kissed. But you've no right to tease me about it."

Combeferre raised his arms defensively. "Hey, I didn't say anything. I was merely confirming the fact that our marble lover of Patria has fallen for a different woman."

"I'm not made of marble," protested Enjolras, frowning. "I just – I'm just a bit _stoic_ at times."

"Come on, Enjolras," sighed Combeferre. "Compared to you, Zeno of Citium was a _softie_."

Enjolras shook his head at his friend as he, as usually, somehow managed to slip a great Greek philosopher into their conversation. He chuckled as he closed his reading book and heard how his friends moved onto a different topic of conversation, listening with a distracted expression.

"I don't know why was Marius so disappointed the other day," said Courfeyrac thoughtfully. "I saw he had a bruise on his cheek, but he refused to tell me how did he get it." He turned to Enjolras. "You haven't seen him today at university, have you?" Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Marius were the three law students from the _Amis_, and they usually met in almost every lecture.

At first, Enjolras didn't know what to answer. He knew that his friends wouldn't think too highly of him if he told them about how he had simply punched his good – though slightly thick – friend in the face, but at the same time he needed to share the story with them because he felt like he wouldn't be able to hold it for much longer.

"I – I got very mad at him the other day," started Enjolras. "I saw him with Éponine and thought they were together. But then he said that he had fallen in love with someone else – " Enjolras shook his head regretfully. "I'm not proud of what I did, not at all."

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were now exchanging glances as Grantaire took another long gulp from the absinthe bottle. Then, the drunkard looked at the other two and shrugged. "Who really cares? I see Enjolras's point."

"You do?" asked Courfeyrac, surprised by his drunk friend's words.

Grantaire nodded. "'Course I do." he then looked at Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were still frowning. The tipsy man slammed his bottle against the table. "Why, I think it is all more than understandable! Enjolras loves Éponine, does he not?" the other two nodded, not unlike two little children who were being taught a lesson would. "Well, that's it. He got angry at Marius – firstly because he felt jealous about Éponine loving him, and then because he realized that, by loving that new mistress of his instead, Marius might have hurt Éponine's feelings even more."

The other two shared a confused glance as Enjolras nodded quietly. He had never been one to listen too much to Grantaire's blabbering – but he had to admit, the second Philosophy student of their group _did_ have a few good reasonings every now and then.

"Grantaire has told you everything, I believe," said the leader of the rebellion, slamming his book closed. He then let out a long sigh and addressed Combeferre. "Now, I wanted to know – does any of the boys aside from you three know about Éponine and I?"

Courfeyrac shook his head. "We only learned from Gavroche that you two were kissing a few hours ago. Oh, and Éponine was with him."

Enjolras couldn't help but wonder if she was going to attend that afternoon's meeting. Something told him that she was not going to show up – again, he knew her just too well. She probably was sitting somewhere with Azelma or Gavroche, enjoying the brilliant weather outside. He couldn't hold back a smile as the girl slipped into his mind yet again.

"I heard him say something about their father," recalled Courfeyrac then. "He said – ah, what was it?"

"That he was a filthy bastard who couldn't bother loving his children?" offered Grantaire bluntly, his voice already a bit muffled by alcohol.

"Yes – that's literally what little 'Vroche said," commented Combeferre thoughtfully. Then he patted Enjolras on the back with a friendly expression. "Don't worry, I'm sure Éponine is all right. Perhaps you can go visit her later today – I'm sure her father would not mind."

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a bit uncomfortable. His friends knew that Thérnardier was a treacherous man, but none of them knew to which end. He dreaded the sole thought of having to face Éponine's father with false appreciation and an almost mocking respect. Of course, Enjolras always tried to be as polite as possible to everyone around him, no matter their social class – he would treat the same way a poor beggar in the street than he would treat the richest man of the city. But, despite how much he tried, Thérnardier made Enjolras lose it.

_Well, if that's what takes paying a short visit to 'Ponine_, he thought.

"I'll go after today's meeting," he resolved, talking to no-one in particular. Combeferre was now examining his copy of Voltaire's _Le Temple de la Gloire_, while Courfeyrac absentmindedly read through the previous day's newspaper. Enjolras frowned at the latter's lack of attention, as he was usually very eager to conversation about every one of his friends' lives. When the leader of the rebellion peered slightly over the copy, he found a smaller piece of paper in his hand, looking yellowy and worn out. "What's that, Courfeyrac?"_  
_

"Oh, nothing," said Courfeyrac as he hastily tried to take the old paper away from his friend's hands. However, Enjolras was faster and snatched the paper from him and read it out loud.

"_L'Amis du Peuple_ . . . january 1794." The leader of the rebellion gaped at Courfeyrac, who was now tugging on his black curls nervously, gazing away. Enjolras, however, was smiling. "Courf, this is a newspaper from the Revolution! Look – there's an article signed by Robespierre and everything!" Enjolras flipped the old manuscript's pages carefully as he stared in wonder at every single word typed onto the yellowed pages of the thirty-eight-year-old newspaper. He then looked up at his friend, his eyes gleaming like a five-year-old's. "Where did you get this, Courf?"

Courfeyrac shrugged modestly and said, "There's an old man who sells them near Notre Dame. I got this one and another sample from 1790 for a franc."

Enjolras grinned. "You're _brilliant_, Courfeyrac! This," he pointed at the paper in his hands. "This is what we are going to work with. The people still know Robespierre – the elders were our age when he ruled our country. Most of his work is banned now – but you'll see what happens when we start giving out pamphlets with the very same words printed on these papers!" He saw how Combeferre smiled from his seat, and even Grantaire acknowledged Courfeyrac's discovery with a nod. Enjolras grinned and patted his friend's back. "Really well done, Courf. You aren't the guide of our rebellion for nothing."

Courfeyrac smiled as he took a seat on his chair and nodded to Combeferre. "Heard that? Our leader is turning into a softie, Combeferre. Maybe he will hug you now."

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but laugh at that.

* * *

The meeting went better than Enjolras had expected. Most of the _Amis_ could only stay for a little while, for it was a Thursday and most of them had to attend lectures at university the following day. Joly was leaving early, as he had arranged a meeting with Musichetta – which Enjolras took _too well_, to the medical student's opinion, as their leader was usually a bit sceptical about romantic meetings. Bahorel and Feuilly left early too, and so did Lesgles and Prouvaire._  
_

"I want food," groaned Grantaire, who was already as drunk as always. He was sitting with Enjolras, who was collecting his things, and Combeferre, who seemed to be a little tired about the drunkard's sloppy jokes and overall stiff expression, which came along with his drunkenness.

Combeferre sighed, "I'll get him home." He briefly eyed Marius, who was sitting at another table with Courfeyrac, talking in whispers. He called the latter over. "Courf, mind helping me drag Grantaire home?"

"I can go home by myself, thank you very – " started Grantaire with a tipsy voice, but then suddenly stopped and dropped his head on top of the table. "Give me food, Courf."

The other two just rolled their eyes as they grabbed an arm of the drunkard each and said brief goodbyes to both Marius and Enjolras, quickly leaving the room with Grantaire going on about Combeferre's pretty cousin from Arles. Enjolras just rolled his eyes and turned around, only to find Marius and his blackened eye glaring at him. The leader of the rebellion suddenly remembered that he was ought to apologize to his friend, and so he made his way to Marius's seat and stood in front of him.

"Your eye – it looks rather bad," he commented cluelessly. Enjolras might have been the most talented speaker in the world – but when it came to talking about himself and his feelings, he could be the most private, sheepish man in the world. And almost as thick as Marius, some would say.

"Yes," answered his friend stiffly. Marius then tried narrowing his eyes, but found that it made his eye hurt even more. "It does hurt, you know."

Enjolras sighed. "I'm terribly sorry, Marius. I never meant to hurt you so much."

"Oh, yes?" asked Marius, a sarcastic edge to his words. "_How fascinating_."

Enjolras shook his head. "Let me explain."

Marius shrugged, as if to tell his friend that he was willing to know why had he punched – and humiliated – him in the middle of the street. Enjolras then proceeded to telling his friend about Éponine and how everything he felt towards her had somehow burst out in that very moment. By the time he had finished telling Marius everything – including their brief kiss – Marius was gaping at him, his green eyes flashing in what seemed like sheer happiness for his friend. He seemed to have forgotten about his black eye, about the fact that his friend had hit him in the middle of the street only a day ago.

"Enjolras – " he started, a smile spreading across his face. "I really don't know what to say right now. You and Éponine are two of my closest friends and – well, I always knew that there was something funny going on between you two – "

That was the beginning of Marius's ten-minute ramble about how he completely understood what Enjolras had done the previous day and assured that he would have done the same had it been his beloved Cosette embracing him in the middle of the street – which was something that Enjolras decided to take as a positive comment.

"Well, I'm glad you approve and everything," said Enjolras, a while later. "But I must be going now. I want to visit the Thérnardiers before I get back home today.

"Oh," said Marius. "Yes, of course. You go, I'll stay here until ten – I have a meeting with my dearest Cosette, you know."

Enjolras sighed as he patted his friend's back. "All right, Marius. Good luck with that."

Marius grinned. "Same, Enjolras!"

The leader of the rebellion sighed once more before leaving his friend, who was now reading one of his dear Cosette's letters. He wondered how could the two of them make such a sappy couple – they had barely known each other for a few days, yet they swore that they would not be able to live without the other. Then again, Enjolras had never really gotten Marius's point at all in most aspects of his daily life – he despised his friend's Bonapartist ideas and sometimes thought that, were it not for the friendship between them, he would have kicked the redhaired revolutionary out of their society long ago.

He whistled absentmindedly as he made his way down the twisted streets of Montmartre. As he approached the poorer side of the _quartier_, he saw how beggars and prostitutes began to litter the streets as usually – a few of them approached him, and he had to shake his head gently and even push a girl or two away when they tried to slip their hands into his pockets. To his horror, he then realized that one of the girls who had offered him a 'nice sweet job for only four francs' looked no older than fourteen. Shaking his head, he quickened his pace.

The Thérnardiers' wasn't too far away. He saw the house's small, wooden windows closed, and as he approached the door he heard yells coming from the ground floor.

"For the billionth time, Azelma!" cried Thérnardier sharply. "_Have you seen Éponine today_?"

"No – no, Papa!" croaked the thirteen-year-old. "I swear I haven't!"

"You _liar_!" screamed her father. Enjolras winced when he heard how a whipping belt swiftly landed on the little girl's back, making her scream out in pain. "Where've you been today, eh? Lookin' for them? Givin' them food? _Tell me, for Christ's sake, Anzelma!_"

"I – " the girl stuttered. She sounded pained and exhausted, which made Enjolras's frown deepen. "It is true, I went looking for them – but I didn't find them. I swear."

Enjolras silently felt how his chest tightened as Thérnardier gave his second daughter a few loud whips with his belt, until the man started breathing heavily and dragged Azelma back to her feet. He could hear the girl pleading her father silently to leave her alone. "You aren't to leave this house unless I tell you to, understood? You will do as I please and you will _never_ defy my authority. Understood, girl?"

After a few seconds of silence, the girl whispered meekly, "I will do as you please, Papa."

Thérnardier let out a loud smirk and released the girl, who fell back to her knees, whimpering lightly. "Well done, lass. Now I'll go upstairs to fetch your Mama – you'd better get all of this cleaned before I'm back, eh?" The man laughed heartily, noisily heading upstairs and slamming the door behind him. When she was finally alone, Azelma broke into loud sobs, burying her face in her arms and lying on the ground.

Enjolras felt how his heart pace quickened as he quietly pushed the front door open. What he found in front of him was the pathetic image of a thirteen-year-old with her back stained in blood and her face buried in her arms, lying on the ground as she sobbed loudly. He felt how anger filled his veins as he hurried towards the girl and shook her shoulder gently.

"'Zelma," he said. "Azelma."

The girl looked up, at first shivering at the touch of the young man in front of her. The initial fright was quickly replaced by a confused expression as her blurry vision focused on Enjolras's blond curls and warm blue eyes splattered with grey. "E – Enjolras? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," said Enjolras. He squeezed the girl's shoulder quietly as he observed her bruised back. He cringed at the sight of a few bad cuts and a number of bruises, her skin in smeared in ugly blood-red blotches. Rage took over him as he realized that all of those wounds had been inflicted on the girl by her own father. He looked at the girl, whose brown eyes were identical to Éponine's. "We have to get you out of here, 'Zelma."

Azelma shook her head. "I can't leave. Papa would kill me."

"Azelma, he would not kill you if – " he hesitated for a second. If it was true that Éponine had left the Thérnardiers, he would not let her live in the streets – she needed somewhere to go, and Enjolras was willing to let her move into his flat. And seeing Azelma's poor state, shouldn't he help the poor girl too?

"He will not kill you if you live with me," said Enjolras, after taking a deep breath. He looked at the girl with a hopeful expression, and tried to give her a smile.

The girl seemed to have been surprised beyond measure by Enjolras's words. She covered her mouth with her hand as she stared up at the young man her sister had not stopped blabbering about ever since they first met. She then gave him a faint smile. "I – Éponine's with you, right?"

Enjolras frowned. "No, she is not with me. I thought you would know where she is?"

Azelma shook her head. "No, I didn't lie to my Papa. I looked for her this morning, but I couldn't find her. I s'pose she's been with 'Vroche . . . but wait, haven't you seem them today at the café?"

It was now Enjolras's turn to shake his head. "They have not come to our meeting today." He heard footsteps on the top floor, so he looked down at the little girl and squeezed her hand. "We have to leave now, all right?"

"I don't think I can walk very well," she whispered. The girl might have been thirteen years old already, but she looked no older than ten, battered and bruised and as tiny as ever.

Enjolras shook his head. "I'll take you." He gently placed one of his arms under her knees, and the other around her shoulders. He heard how the girl groaned lightly as he took her off the ground, but then whispered, "It'll be all right, Azelma. We'll be home in no time."

The girl smiled faintly as Enjolras tiptoed his way back to the front door. He shivered at how little the girl weighed – she felt as light as a small bag of potatoes in his arms. He made his way down the cobbled, damp streets, feeling the beggars' shocked eyes on his back as they wondered what in the world was a bourgeois doing carrying the second Thérnardier daughter away from her parents' house.

"We have to find them, 'Jolras," whispered Azelma then. "I have to find Éponine."

"Shh, it's all right," said Enjolras. "I'll get you home and my friend Joly will check on your back. We can go find 'Ponine first thing tomorrow – I'm sure she will do fine with Gavroche for now."

The thirteen-year-old smiled weakly at him. "You really love her, don't you?"

Enjolras felt how a blush crept up his cheeks as he shrugged nonchalantly. "I – perhaps I do."

"I knew it," whispered the girl, smiling peacefully.

Enjolras cringed at the sight of the girl closing her eyes, with such a saintlike expression on her face. Her body bruised and battered, her eyes closed and her arms resting over her stomach – anyone would have said she was dead. He had to stop on his tracks and check on her blood pulse to assure that she _was_ alive before resuming his walk.

As Enjolras wandered down the streets of Paris with little Azelma in his arms, he wondered if he would find Éponine in a similar state the following day. He prayed to every single God that could possibly be looking down at him in that moment that he would not.

* * *

**Here you have the chapter! And yeah, sorry about the lack of E/E in this chapter – again. At first I intended to include more stuff in this chapter, but things started stretching out a little, so in the end I had to cut it because it would have been so painfully long otherwise. But oh well, you'll get loads of fluff on the following chapter. And by that I mean _loads_ of fluff. Like, you're going to want to puke rainbows while reading it.**

**Also, I wanted to give a massive shoutout to all of you awesome reviewers. Reading your lovely reviews always makes my day. So yeah, thanks a mil! :)**

**Review and I'll give you a preview! (and a chibi Enjolras if you'd like! I've been trying to draw him over the past few days...he's literally all over my Math notepad, haha.)**

**E x**


	9. Suddenly

**Chapter Nine**

_In which Joly learns a wonderful secret and Gavroche witnesses something extraordinary_

...

Joly was at Enjolras's at ten o'clock the following morning. Azelma had been sleeping in a small room that Enjolras had fashioned into a dormitory for her, and she was now obediently doing as the medical student told her.

"Does it hurt over here?" Joly asked, gently touching the girl's shoulder. Azelma meekly shook her head but winced lightly as Joly pressed a little bit more. The medical student flashed a stern look at Enjolras when he grumbled unpleasantly, but merely said, "She shall be fine in a few days. She only needs to keep a healthy diet and be kept in lots of company." He squeezed his friend's shoulder as he handed him a small squared pot with a murky yellowy substance inside. "Oh, and you also have to anoint her bruises with this ointment every morning until they've completely healed. Understood?"

Enjolras nodded quietly as his friend collected his things and bowed at both Azelma and him, and then addressed the leader of the revolution, "I'll see you later today, I expect?"

Enjolras hesitated for a second and then said, "I'm afraid I will not be able to go to today's meeting – I have to go look for Éponine. I'm worried about her – "

"Oh," said Joly, nodding understandingly. Enjolras knitted his eyebrows when he saw a smile tugged on the corners of his friend's mouth. The medical student, however, simply shrugged, "I'll tell the boys then." He squeezed Enjolras's shoulder one last time before leaving the apartment, fumbling for his pocket watch and his handkerchief as he left. When he was gone, Enjolras studied the thirteen-year-old's tired expression as she rolled on her back, trying to get a comfortable position on the bed.

"This bed is so soft," she whispered. "It's like sleeping on a cloud."

Enjolras smiled. He knew that the girl was used to her parents' rough, hay bunks, and saw how she smiled peacefully. He checked his pocket watch to find that it was near midday. "Azelma, I'm going to tell the landlady to bring you some food, all right?" The girl nodded faintly.

As Enjolras made his way to the door, he heard how the girl murmured, "Thank you for everything, monsieur Enjolras."

The young man shook his head and smiled at the thirteen-year-old. "_De rien_, Azelma."

"You can leave me here for a few hours if you want to go find Éponine," added the girl. She chuckled. "I don't think I'll be able to get out of bed."

"I'll go find Éponine after lunch," said Enjolras. The back of his head reminded him that he was ought to focus on getting some papers done, but decided that leaving his student duties aside for a day would not hurt his perfect college transcript.

The girl's expression lighted up. "Really?"

Enjolras nodded. "Yes."

He couldn't help but notice how the girl smiled and whispered, "I'm sure she will be so happy."

* * *

As he had promised, Enjolras left his flat after having lunch. The landlady had promised that she would take care of Azelma, who seemed to be a lot happier now.

At first, he wandered around the streets rather cluelessly as he asked himself where could the girl possibly be. He thought of Gavroche's wooden elephant, where he lived with two boys his age. Perhaps Éponine was with them.

As he made his way to Les Halles, where the wooden elephant was to be found, Enjolras felt something on the back of his head asking him why hadn't Éponine come to his flat instead of wandering around the streets alone. She surely knew that he would be more than willing to let her stay as long as she wished to – didn't she? Either way, he felt deeply worried. The grimmest sort of scenarios were all playing in his head: Éponine being beaten to death by her father, kidnapped by an urchin or even . . . he shuddered at the thought that crossed his head as he tried to shake it off.

When he finally arrived at the square, he found the elephant standing there as usually, with little children tapping its colossal legs enthusiastically. He looked at them with a puzzled expression until he saw how little Gavroche and his two friends slid down the elephant's back and landed swiftly on the ground, being greeted by the little urchins with their usual slang, half of which Enjolras didn't quite understand. The blond-haired boy, however, beamed at Enjolras when he saw the leader of the rebellion standing a few feet away from him.

"Wotcher, Enjay!" he said happily, running over to him. He looked up at Enjolras and flashed him a smile with his blackened teeth. "Whatcha doin' here?"

"I'm looking for Éponine," the student answered. He saw how the group of little boys looked at him curiously, and added, "Have you seen her lately?"

Gavroche nodded. "She left only a couple o' 'ours ago! I think she was gonna go find a job. I was gonna go with her, but she said she wanted to go alone."

Enjolras frowned. "That's strange. Do you know where was she going to go?"

The little urchin shook his head. "I know nothin' more. But I do think she went to Saint-Lazare, or perhaps La Madeleine. I can't be sure, m'sieur."

"All right then," Enjolras ruffled the little boy's hair and said. "Well, I must be going now. It will be hard to find her . . . goodbye, Gavroche."

"Bye, Enjay!" said the boy cheerfully.

The student waved goodbye to the group of little urchins and, just as he started walking down the street on his way to Saint-Lazare, he felt how someone hurried behind him and patted his back. He turned to find Gavroche eyeing him with a serious expression, which was something very uncommon in a child his age, much less in someone as bubbly as little Gavroche.

"She loves you, Enjolras." the boy said matter-of-factly. "I might be little, but I know that after all our father has put her through she needs to be happy." He then let out a giggle. "But don't get too smoochy with her, all right?"

Enjolras chuckled, patting the boy's shoulder. "I will try not to get _smoochy_, Gavroche." He then offered the boy a smile. "And I will try to make your sister happy."

The little boy smiled happily. "Thanks, Enjay." And said that, he scurried back to his friends, blending into the crowd after mischievously pocketing a small _croissant_ from a nearby _boulangerie_. Enjolras chuckled and resumed his walk to Saint-Lazare.

He looked up at the sky, which was now clear blue. It was the first of May, a month in which the sun started shining intently over Paris and the citizens started replacing their thick raincoats with fresh linen shirts and dresses. It seemed as though the summer of 1832 would be quite warm – which could be pleasant and relaxing for the bourgeoisie, but fatal to the poor workers who would have to work every day under the sun. Enjolras thought bitterly about Gavroche and all his fellow urchins – how would they resist the warm weather?

He kicked a cobblestone thoughtfully, barely unaware of the fact that he had just arrived to Saint-Lazare. He looked around, trying to think of where might Éponine be – Saint-Lazare was a quite big part of the _quartier_, and there were plenty of stores and shops along its cobbled, wide streets.

He started walking down the streets to the _Place Saint-Lazare_. As Enjolras peered into every single shop he passed by, he found that he saw no trace of Éponine – the shop owners and their workers were there as usually, undisturbed and working. He kept on walking and still couldn't find her, starting to feel a little bit uneasy. What if something had happened to her? What if her father had found her and had dragged her back home, hitting her mercilessly?

Enjolras shivered at the thought, but shook his head. He wasn't going to panic.

Still, he couldn't help but hear that little voice on the back of his head replaying the most gruesome scenarios Enjolras would have ever dreamed of.

* * *

Enjolras sat on a pier near Notre Dame with a defeated expression. He had searched high and low for Éponine, in every possible place she might have been: the Café Musain, the wine shop, Marius's house, her parents' – he had merely peered inside, only to find Thérnardier yelling at his wife angrily about how now all of their children were gone and he was going to kill them all if he ever saw them again – and even his own house, just to see if Éponine had decided to visit while he was away.

He sighed as he took off his shoes and dipped his feet into the water, staring at the river in front of him and the cathedral at the other side. It was a truly beautiful sigh – _our lady_, the name the cathedral of Paris had been given by the citizens, was one of the most enchanting places Enjolras had ever seen. He closed his eyes for a second, feeling the gentle night breeze against his face –

"'Parnasse, leave us _alone_!"

Enjolras bolted up from his seat, recognizing the voice instantly. He quickly pulled his shoes on, frantically searching for Éponine. He saw her nowhere close, so he quickly jolted up to the street. He found her there, with little Gavroche standing behind her with a terrified expression and a man dressed in black threatening her and placing his hands on her bum.

"Stop," she screamed. "_Stop!_"

"I know you like it," chuckled Montparnasse. He then grasped her tighter. "Why can't we go back to those days, 'Ponine?"

"I – don't – want – to see you again," breathed Éponine as she hit his chest repeatedly, trying to make Montparnasse go away.

"Do you really think that little bourgeois will love you?" asked the man threateningly. "He thinks you're just a _hoe_, Éponine. You, always so prude and reluctant to let me love you – "

Éponine spat at him right in the face, which made Montparnasse cringe. When he cleaned his cheek with the back of his hand, he found the girl letting out choked sobs.

"I – I don't give a _damn _about you, Montparnasse," she choked. "I don't care if you ever loved me or not. I will _never_ love you because I love another man, and I do not care if he is a bloody bourgeois or not. You're such a bastard."

Enjolras felt how anger started pumping through his veins when he saw how Montparnasse tried to kiss Éponine on the lips. Something had held him back from intervening in the previous minute or so, but he was now ready to punch the guts of that man out. He ran towards them, little Gavroche being the first to notice him.

"'Jolras!" he whispered.

Enjolras, however, decided to ignore the little child and pushed Montparnasse away from Éponine. The girl stared at him with her eyes as wide as saucers, glancing from an initially shocked Montparnasse to a raging Enjolras. The former quickly stood up and glared at the other man.

"Who do you think you are, you bloody bourgeois?" cried Montparnasse.

Enjolras looked at him straight in the eye, the most loathing expression he could muster glistening in his blue orbs. "Who do _you_ think you are to say such things to Éponine, to touch her in such a disgusting way?"

Montparnasse snorted. "So you're telling me that you haven't _touched _her?" he rolled his eyes with a mocking expression. "All right."

"I would _never _touch her the way you do without her permission," stated Enjolras firmly. He felt how Éponine reached out to catch his hand, and he squeezed it quietly. He then looked up at Montparnasse again and said, "Now I'm going to kindly ask you to leave."

"You can't tell me to leave," snickered Montparnasse. "Haven't you learned in your bloody bourgeois law school that the streets are open to everyone?"

Enjolras balled his free fist. "Leave."

Montparnasse narrowed his eyes at him. "I don't care what you say." he looked at Éponine. "What do _you_ have to say, woman? You know he will grow tired of you, that he will ultimately abandon you – "

"Don't you dare say such a thing!" barked Enjolras, balling his free fist. He felt how Éponine placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook his head gently. "I will _never_ leave her. Not knowing that there's scum like you in the streets willing to hurt her."

"Enjolras," said Éponine softly. "Let me deal with him." She looked at Montparnasse and said, "You know nothing about Enjolras and me, 'Parnasse. I do not know what has happened to my old childhood friend, but you clearly aren't the same as you were before."

"So that's why you're going with him, because you think I've changed?" asked the man, almost teasingly.

Éponine gulped. "No." She felt how Enjolras squeezed her hand and shook her head. "No. I'm going with Enjolras because I _love_ him."

Everyone felt silent. Enjolras felt how, despite the tense situation they were in, a blush crept up his cheeks. Little Gavroche had now stepped in front of his older sister, as if he were defying Montparnasse. The third man stood dead silent, glancing from Enjolras to Éponine with an expression of sheer disbelief. He didn't look mocking or amused anymore – he now furrowed his brow at the three of them.

"How can you love her?" he demanded. "How can you even care for her? You're a bloody bourgeois, you're supposed to fall in love with someone from your social class. Not the daughter of two scammers."

Enjolras shook his head, trying to calm down. "I don't care about social class. Éponine is worth twelve of any bourgeois girl I have ever met."

Montparnasse glared at him. "This won't be the end," he said silently. "If I ever hear of you hurting Éponine, I will kill you."

"I would _never_ hurt Éponine," growled Enjolras. "Unlike you."

Montparnasse seemed to hesitate for a second, but then swiftly turned around and shuffled out of their sight. Éponine stood next to Enjolras, letting out shaky breaths, while Gavroche silently followed Montparnasse until the older man turned around the corner. They stood in silence for a few seconds, until Éponine finally looked up at Enjolras, who had a serious expression on his face. When he noticed her glassy eyes, however, he gave her a small smile.

"You do not believe I would ever hurt you, do you?" he asked quietly, tucking a lock of her brown hair behind her ear.

Éponine shook her head, rubbing the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand. "Of course not. It's just – Montparnasse and I used to be very close – and look what he's become in the past couple of years." But she then looked up at Enjolras with a smile and played with his shirt lace absentmindedly. "You always seem to be there when I need you, don't you?"

Enjolras chuckled. "Yes, I suppose I am." he then carefully placed a finger under Éponine's chin, holding her head up with the most loving expression Éponine had ever seen across his face. "But I still have a question for you, 'Ponine. Did you really mean it when you said you love me?"

Éponine bit her lower lip, a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. She played with the collar of his shirt and then said, "What do you think, 'Jolras?"

Enjolras grinned and, before he could think it twice, he placed his lips on hers. Éponine was surprised at first, but then quickly relaxed, holding onto the collar of his shirt and kissing him back. He deepened the kiss, pulling Éponine closer by the waist and holding her against his chest. Éponine's hands made their way into his blond curls, smiling into the kiss. Both of their hearts were beating at alarming rates, but neither of them cared.

They stopped when they heard how someone said, "Ew! Stop it!"

The two of them broke apart to find little Gavroche wrinkling his nose at both of them. "That was disgusting, you know." said the little boy.

Éponine blushed, but found that Enjolras actually thought it was quite amusing. He merely chuckled, "Go away, boy."

Gavroche giggled as he quickly turned around and disappeared in the streets of Paris. Enjolras shook his head in disbelief and then looked at Éponine with the biggest smile his lips had ever known. He gave her yet another kiss, which was shorter than the last one but nevertheless equally loving. When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against Éponine's looking at her brown eyes with an adoring expression.

"I love you."

* * *

They sat together quietly, gazing up at the starry sky above them with their feet dipped into the cold waters of the river Seine. Enjolras rubbed her arm soothingly as she rested her head on his shoulder. He had filled her in about everything involving Azelma and her father, which Éponine had taken surprisingly well. Enjolras assumed that she was already used to learning of her father's abusive beatings, but couldn't help but notice how a single tear rolled down her cheek as they both stared at the river in front of them.

"Azelma is fine, dear." he whispered. He had never really been one to use the word 'dear', but he felt like it fitted that moment.

Éponine chuckled miserably. "She's not as strong as I am. She's used to Mama's stew, to Papa's smirks – even though they hurt her a lot, 'Zelma wouldn't be able to live without them. I know her." She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a second, feeling how tears started brimming her eyes. She did not want to cry, not in front of Enjolras – but realized that she had failed miserably as yet another tear rolled down her cheek. "I don't know what to do now."

Enjolras looked at her with a surprised expression. "Why, I think it is plain to see what you're going to do!" he exclaimed. "You two are going to move to my flat."

Éponine looked at him, equally surprised, as she felt how a blush crept up her cheeks. "What? I can't live with you – a girl and her sister living at a man's house without being married – that's _outrageous_, Enjolras."

"But you aren't just a girl, 'Ponine," he said, pulling her closer. "You're Éponine Thérnardier. Keep in mind that you have been the first woman in the entire city of Paris to catch my eye."

She smiled. "I suppose that's quite an achievement."

Enjolras nodded. "Believe me, it is."

Éponine chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll think about it."

Enjolras felt how a blush crept up his cheeks, and smiled when he felt Éponine hugging him. He kissed the top of the girl's head, wondering what was going to happen next. He had never been in a serious relationship with a woman before, although he knew a few things from his friends – it pretty much changes your entire life. Enjolras had always felt a bit sceptical about that, but now that he had Éponine by his side, he thought there could be no better feeling in the world.

It felt so well to be with her under the stars.

* * *

**Finally managed to update! I've been sick for a few days but I'm feeling better now, so there you go! I do believe I'll get to post the following chapter soon-ish, seeing that I've no tests next week (well that's odd isn't it?). Aaaaanyways, hope it wasn't that fluffy and that you awesome reviewers have enjoyed it.**

**Gavroche asks you to review! Pwetty pwease for tha cockney revolutionaree?**

**E x**


	10. Stars

**Chapter Ten**

_In which Éponine has a very early breakfast and Combeferre and Enjolras share a conversation_

...

Enjolras awoke with a start in the middle of the night. He was sleeping in what had been Azelma's little room the previous day, as he had offered the two sisters to sleep together in his bedroom. He heard muffled cries coming from the room next to his, and shook his head groggily wondering what was wrong until he realized that it was Éponine. He hurried to the other room, where he found Éponine alone, her cheeks strained with tears and her eyes as wide as saucers.

"'Ponine!" he said with a surprised expression. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her into an embrace. "'Ponine, what's wrong?"

"It's _père_!" she whispered anxiously. "_Père_ has taken Azelma – I just saw him – "

Enjolras looked around him with a scandalized expression when he realized that Azelma was nowhere to be seen. "That – that can't be, love," he whispered nervously, still checking around the room incredulously. "It must have been a nasty nightmare."

Éponine shook her head, tears brimming her brown eyes. "I swear I saw him! Montparnasse and the rest of his friends were with him. They took Azelma and hit me and then hit you – " she let out a choked sob and wrapped her arms around Enjolras's neck, crying onto his chest. He stroke her hair gently, kissing the top of her head.

"It's just a dream, 'Ponine," he repeated. "Your father hasn't hurt us. He's far away from here, and I'm sure Azelma will be right back. Perhaps she needed to go get something from the living room."

"At three in the morning?" asked Éponine, still holding tightly onto him.

Enjolras shook his head, "I don't know, but – "

He was interrupted by the sound of the door cracking open. The two of them looked up to find Azelma peering at them quietly, with a confused expression.

"What are you doing here, Enjolras?" she asked politely. She then looked at Éponine and gasped. "'Ponine, why're you crying?"

Éponine hastily tried to wipe the tears away from her eyes. "S'nothing, Azelma."

Enjolras looked at the two sisters worriedly as Azelma slipped into bed again. He then addressed Éponine and asked, "Do you want something to drink? I can heat some milk or get you a _croissant_ from yesterday's breakfast."

The older girl hesitated for a second, but then nodded faintly. Enjolras took her hand and quietly led her to the small kitchen, feeling how the girl clung onto his hand with a rather fearful expression. He rubbed her arm soothingly as the girl took a seat on a wooden stool, and reached for a small bottle of milk in the cupboard above the table. He poured it into the kettle, and turned on the heat. As the milk started warming up, Enjolras stood by the stove, worriedly studying Éponine's scared expression.

"Love, you have just seen that Azelma is all right," he said quietly. "Why are you still worried?"

Éponine looked away from his intent gaze, shivering lightly. "I – It's just I'm worried. What if Papa finds us? He will kill us – he will kill _you_. I think we should go back home before he gets angrier than he already is."

Enjolras shook his head disbelievingly. "That's silly, 'Ponine," he said as he poured the heated milk into a glass and searched the cupboard for a couple of cold croissants they could eat. "Your father is already spitting fire – besides, he will not dare touch you two. If he does, well – " Enjolras involuntarily balled his fists and gazed down. "I'll make sure he regrets it."

The only thought that crossed Éponine's mind as Enjolras offered her the glass of milk and a croissant was that Combeferre's description of him was quite accurate. He was angelically beautiful, yet capable of being terrible – you just had to stop and see how he had not hesitated to punch that drunkard only a few months before, or how he had not hesitated to face Montparnasse only a few hours before.

And yet she felt how he kissed her temple with the utmost care in the world and wondered how on Earth could the two Enjolras she knew be the same.

"I swear it will be all right, 'Ponine," he whispered. "Believe me."

She quietly gulped her milk and looked away. "How do you know? You – you're going off to the barricades soon, Combeferre said it the other day – "

Enjolras closed his eyes for a second, rubbing his temples. He knew they would have to talk about that sooner or later, but he still didn't feel ready to face the fact that he would have to leave her and go to the barricades alone.

"Don't worry about that now, 'Ponine," he said. "I – we'll see what we will do when the time comes. But for now I promise I will keep you two safe."

Éponine looked up at him, and saw how the ghost of a smile appeared on his handsome features. She tilted her head a little and pressed her lips to his, enjoying the taste she was still getting used to. However, she quickly pulled away and whispered, "I don't want to go back there alone."

"You will not be alone, dear," he said. "You have Azelma, and I will be next door if you need anything – "

"It's not the same," she insisted. "I – I want you to stay with me. Can I sleep with you, please?"

Enjolras felt how a blush crept up his cheeks at the thought of sharing a bed with Éponine. As much as he knew that he loved her, he still felt like such kind of personal relationships should take their own time.

"I – uh – " he stuttered, rubbing the back of his head. It was funny how Éponine was the only person who was able to make him stutter. "I'm not sure if – I mean, don't you think it is too early for us to – uh – ?"

Éponine's cheeks went pink. "No, 'Jolras, I didn't mean sleeping _that_ way."

"Oh." Enjolras's cheeks became even redder. He then closed his eyes, bobbing his head lightly. "Nevermind. I'm sorry." He let out a nervous chuckle and nodded. "Sure – let's go."

When Éponine had finished her very early breakfast – indeed, it was _very_ early, as it was only half past three in the morning – the two of them made their way to Enjolras's bedroom, only to find that Azelma was already fast asleep and curled into a ball with a peaceful expression that hadn't crossed her face in a very, very long time. Éponine smiled, resting her head against the doorframe. Enjolras did a small, lopsided smile as he crossed his arms.

"I don't want her to wake up," whispered Éponine. "If she does she'll remember she's in a world full of cruelty and injustice...I want her to stay like this forever."

Enjolras gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "We will change that. In no time, you'll see her smiling every day at every hour – not just in her sleep. I promise."

Éponine looked up at him and nodded faintly. She believed blindly in everything the revolutionaries said, but she sometimes wondered if the only thing those schoolboys were going to achieve with that bloody uprising was their own deaths.

She felt how shivers traveled down her spine as she rested on the small bed next to Enjolras. He carefully wrapped his arm around her middle, his nose resting on her shoulder. He breathed in her scent to the soap he had bought the other day, and felt how a smile tugged on the corners of his smile. He kissed the back of her neck and whispered, "Good night, lovely."

Éponine smiled as she pressed her eyes closed again. "Good night."

And soon, both of them slept.

* * *

The following morning, Enjolras woke up with his face buried into Éponine's chocolate locks. He slowly smelled the scent of her hair and smiled, gently rubbing her arm.

"Time to get up, mademoiselle."

Éponine let out a long yawn and looked up at him. When their eyes met, her smile widened and she propped herself up with her elbows, capturing his lips with hers for a second. "Good morning, monsieur."

Enjolras chuckled as he absentmindedly rubbed his toes against hers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. A little later, he said, "Come on, let's get moving."

The girl obediently hopped off the bed and went to the room next door to change her clothes as Enjolras rummaged for a pair of clean trousers and a shirt in his own room. When she arrived there, however, she found Azelma smirking at her, already dressed and surprisingly well bathed. Her bright orange hair was now braided and resting on her shoulder, giving the thirteen-year-old a beautiful look.

"Ahem," said Azelma as her sister started pulling one of her new dresses on. "I saw you and Enjolras sleeping on my way to the bathroom." The thirteen-year-old raised her eyebrows, smiling.

"Oh, really?" asked Éponine, an ironical expression on her face. "I do believe the door was closed this morning when I woke."

Azelma giggled, "Perhaps I slightly peered inside when I realized you were missing this morning." The girl beamed. "But really, I think you two should sleep over here. I will take the other room."

"It's not like we will be sleeping together every day from now on," protested Éponine, her cheeks reddening.

"We'll see about that," scoffed Azelma. She then observed her sister's brown hair: it had always been so greasy and unkempt that she had hardly ever managed to do pretty things to it. Azelma was very good at hairdressing, and she had always thought that Éponine's hair in a good state would be her perfect mannequin. "Do you want me to try braiding your hair?"

Éponine shrugged, which the younger Thérnardier took enthusiastically. She quickly fished into a small drawer for a small red lace she had found the previous night, and then started combing her sister's hair carefully with her own hands. Azelma had never used a hairbrush, and somehow managed to wear her hair decently all the time. In no time, she had finished braiding her sister's hair, which she left resting over her left shoulder.

"There you go," said Azelma. "Looking as beautiful as ever."

Éponine gaped at her reflection in the mirror. The braid looked rather well on her, highlighting her cheekbones and making her face look rounder and overall healthier. She smiled and kissed her little sister's cheek happily.

"Thank you, 'Zelma," said Éponine sweetly. She then grabbed her little sister's hand. "Let's go."

The two sisters walked out of the room to find Enjolras sitting on an armchair, gazing through the window distractedly. When he realized that Azelma and Éponine were there, however, he looked up and smiled at both of them, feeling how his heart pace quickened a little at the sight of Éponine's face and her hair so beautifully done.

"It seems like beauty is a common trait in your family," said Enjolras, smiling.

Éponine blushed, whilst Azelma chirped, "Oh no, you shoulda seen our Mama. She's nothing like pretty. Neither is Papa, at least with those hideous sideburns of his."

Enjolras shook his head, chuckling, as the girl marched off towards the kitchen, eager to prepare herself a breakfast. He was left with Éponine, who nervously fidgeted with her dress. Enjolras wrapped an arm around her and asked, "What are you going to do today?"

She shrugged. "I will probably go find Gavroche. You?"

"I've got to go meet Courfeyrac and Combeferre today," he said. "They say Lamarque's condition is getting worse...we have to get ready for whatever happens." he noticed how Éponine shivered quietly, gazing down at her feet. He rubbed her arm, a sad expression upon her face. "I'll be back for lunch, I promise. I have to finish some papers for university anyway."

Éponine nodded quietly. "I'll see you later then."

"Do you want me to ask the landlady to prepare you something for lunch?"

"Don't worry, I know how to cook."

"You really don't have to."

"I _want_ to," insisted Éponine. "The only thing is, it seems like you hardly ever eat here so there's nothing to cook with aside from a bottle of milk."

Enjolras chuckled. "Well, you can go to the market if you'd like."

Éponine nodded, rolling her thumbs quietly as Enjolras went to get his handbag. When he was back, she looked up at him and said, "Stay safe, all right?"

He kissed the top of her head, "I always do, 'Ponine. I'll see you later."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Georges Courfeyrac lived in a small flat near the Trocadéro. It was small and rather austere, but Courfeyrac liked it that way. Despite being an extremely busy student, he somehow managed to take care of the three little kittens living with him, which he had named Voltaire, Rousseau and Montesquieu – nicknaming the latter _Monty_, which made Enjolras knit his eyebrows and wonder what the politician the cat had been named after would have thought of that.

The leader of the rebellion met Combeferre as he walked down the Avenue d'Ilyau. The Philosophy student was carrying a stack of papers under his arm and frowning lightly. Enjolras had never seen his good friend looking worried – he always tried to look happy and positive, but right then he seemed to be absolutely lost.

"'Ferre," said Enjolras as he touched his friend's shoulder lightly. "Everything all right?"

Combeferre practically jumped at Enjolras's touch. The Philosophy student turned around to find his best friend frowning at him worriedly.

"Oh, Enjolras, it's you," he said faintly, as he hastily tried to pick up a sheet of paper that had fallen from his grasp. "Yes, of course, everything's fine – I was walking to Courfeyrac's, eh – yes, Marion is _very_ fine – " Combeferre seemed to whiten as soon as he mentioned his fiancé's name.

Enjolras frowned. "I never mentioned Marion." He squeezed his friend's shoulder as Combeferre gazed away. "What's wrong, Jean-Jacques? You know you can tell me."

The two of them walked silently for a second before Combeferre sighed, "I'm doomed, Enjolras. _Really_ doomed."

"What's wrong?"

"I've completely screwed everything up."

"It can't be that bad," said Enjolras encouragingly.

"Marion's pregnant."

Enjolras stopped on his tracks.

"Oh."

Combeferre gazed down at his feet again and resumed his walk. Enjolras quickly followed him, his mind reeling. Combeferre had always been his best friend, the second to lead in the rebellion – he definitely needed him at the barricades. At first, he thought that a fiancé would be no excuse – he himself had Éponine, and he had never questioned the fact that he _would_ be going to the barricades no matter what whenever the time came – but then the idea of his best friend's upcoming child came back to his mind. What was Marion going to do if Combeferre died, with a child and alone in the world?

"I'm sorry, Enjolras," began the Philosophy student, shaking his head. "I should have listened to you – "

"No," said Enjolras quietly. "You've nothing to feel sorry about, Combeferre. It's just – it happened. You will finish at university in a few months, and you will be able to get married before the child is born. I see no problem in that."

Combeferre frowned. "But I will go to the barricade with you. I cannot leave my friends and my ideals – " his words faltered for a second as his fiancé and his unborn child came back to his mind, making Combeferre bite his lip and close his eyes for a second.

As they arrived at Courfeyrac's flat, Enjolras squeezed his friend's shoulder. "I am not going to force you to come. But we need you, Combeferre. You are one of our most intelligent men, and you're a brilliant strategist. . ." Enjolras gave his friend a small smile. "Besides, you're one of the little people who knows how to keep me sane."

Before Combeferre could answer, the door cracked open and the two of them found themselves face-to-face with a serious-looking Courfeyrac.

"What's wrong, Courfeyrac?" asked Combeferre worriedly, putting his troubles aside for a second.

The addressed knitted his brow for a second and said, "Bossuet and Jehan just left a couple of minutes ago. They brought terrible news with them." He eyed the other two for a second, and then ushered them inside. When both fellow revolutionaries had taken a seat, Courfeyrac took out that day's newspaper and pointed at an article towards the end of the front page. It was small, yet had a clear title.

_General Jean Maximilien Lamarque announced ill with cholera: how long until the people's man departs?_

Enjolras and Combeferre shared a worried glance. Then the latter asked, "Is there any more information?"

"Bossuet's sister knows one of Lamarque's maids," explained Courfeyrac, who was now holding his kitten Voltaire in his hands. "She's been told that he has been ill for a couple of months – but it has started getting worse and worse. As far as I'm aware, he is not allowed to go to the government meetings anymore, and he is permanently bedridden. They say he won't last the week."

Enjolras closed his eyes for a second and wondered what could he possibly do. He knew that, the moment Lamarque died, they had a reason worth uprising for – but he didn't know if they were ready yet.

"Do you think we should do it?" he asked quietly to his two closest friends.

"Do what?" replied Combeferre absentmindedly, as he read through the newspaper article.

"Uprise."

The other two eyed Enjolras for a second. Then, Courfeyrac – ignoring Combeferre's face of doubt – said, "Of course we should. What are we going to do without Lamarque? The government does not care about the poor, Orleans is obsolete and we have to fight!" he slammed the table, which made the cat in his arms purr in surprise and hop back to the ground with an annoyed expression. Enjolras's eyes widened – Courfeyrac had never been one to act violently. However, the latter quickly apologized. "I'm sorry – but what I mean is we have to act as soon as Lamarque passes away."

"Tell our men we will meet in front of Lamarque's house today," said Enjolras decisively, addressing Combeferre. "We need to gather the people and tell them what we are up to."

Combeferre nodded silently. "I'll go to the Musain – I'm sure Grantaire will be there. He'll be able to spread the word more easily than I can."

"Very well then," said Enjolras then, folding the newspaper carefully. "It is all set." He saw how Combeferre's expression changed into something like fear and squeezed his friend's shoulder gently. "We have to be the change we wish to see in the world, my friends," he said quietly. "_Liberté, égalité_ – "

" – _et fraternité_." finished Combeferre, giving Enjolras a faint smile.

The three friends smiled at each other for a second. It all seemed easy and well-set in that moment, but only God knew what would happen once the uprising began. Were they all to die, were they all to live? None of them could tell.

The only thing that Enjolras felt certain about was his relentless desire to fight.

* * *

**Wow, I don't even know how did I manage to update this fast! Well, I've been sick for a few days and had nothing to do but write and read – so there you go! I hope it came along well, and I hope you people enjoyed it. Just in case you were wondering, this chapter is set around the day in which the 1832 plot starts in the musical/movie – that is, a week before Lamarque's death.**

**Oh, and about Marion (Combeferre's fiancé) – I think I never mentioned this headcanon I found a few days ago. It seems like one of the women in 'Turning' is portrayed by Killian Donnelly's wife, so I've assumed that that woman was Combeferre's wife. I hope that's all right with everyone! I just thought the whole child thing would stir some drama. Oh, and the quote "You have to be the change you wish to see in the world" was said by Mahatma Ghandi, so yeah – not mine, but I thought it fitted there.**

**Anyhow, please review! You know you'll get a preview and you people like previews, don't you? Little 'Vroche says you like them!**

**You'll also get a virtual cookie if you're able to tell me how many sous make a franc! I'm just a bit confused about that.**

**E x**


	11. Red & Black

**Chapter Eleven**

_In which very important news are announced and Marius doubts_

...

"So you're telling me that's the Patria you are always going on about?"

"Yes," muttered Enjolras, taking a seat in front of the painting with a thoughtful look.

"Oh." said Éponine, falling onto a seat next to him. "She looks pretty."

The two of them sat together on a bench of the Louvre. It was an early Tuesday morning – Enjolras had no lectures that day, and had offered Éponine a quick visit to the museum to illustrate her with his limited art knowledge. They had now reached Enjolras's favourite room in the entire museum – the one solely dedicated to the most famous painting by Eugène Delacroix, _Liberty Leading the People_. It had been painted only a couple of years before, and had been acquired by the French State almost immediately. Although most of the people who could fully understand the meaning of the painting despised it, Enjolras found it simply fascinating – he could even say it was his favourite painting in the whole world.

Enjolras stared at the painting for a few seconds, stroking his chin with a thoughtful expression set across his face. "This is not Patria, Éponine," he said then. "It's her sister, Liberty."

"Well, they must be very alike for you to mistake them," smirked Éponine, who was looking at the painting distractedly. "I'm sure your dear Patria is even prettier then."

The Law student chuckled at this and shook his head. "Patria doesn't have an appearance, 'Ponine. She's everywhere, and yet nowhere – that's the magic of it. She can't be pretty nor ugly, although to the eyes of the French she is the most beautiful thing. In a sort of spiritual way, I suppose."

"So that's like God," whispered Éponine.

"Exactly. Like God." The rebel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smiled. "Isn't it a beautiful picture?"

Éponine nodded silently, observing the dead bodies lying under Liberty and her followers. She couldn't help but notice how they were stepping on them, as if they were nothing. Casualties of the war, nothing more – and yet, what they called freedom was stepping over them, crushing them as if they were nothing more than a bunch of skin and bones and not real human beings. She shivered.

"Who are those, Enjolras?" she asked, pointing at the men lying on the bottom of the painting.

"Well, there's the craftsman," he said, pointing at the man with the gunfire in his hands. "He represents all of the working class. The boy behind Liberty, the one shooting at the sky, he represents the working class. He reminds me a little of Gavroche, if you ask me." Éponine smiled faintly at the mention of her little brother, and nodded. "Then, there's a bourgeois behind the craftsman, holding a flag – it represents the collaboration between different social classes, you know. And there in the background," he pointed at a fortress at the back of the picture. "That's _La Bastille_, the prison."

"Oh." said Éponine for the second time that morning. She gazed at the picture for a few seconds, her eyes fixed on the building, and then looked down at the corpses. "That's nice, but I meant those corpses under Liberty's feet. Who are they?"

Éponine turned her neck to find Enjolras's eyebrows knitted and his nose slightly wrinkled. "War casualties, I suppose. Soldiers, civilians – I think they're there to make Liberty's figure stand out."

"War casualties," repeated Éponine. A thought crossed her mind as she heard the words. Shetried to shake it off, but found out that she simply couldn't – what if the Amis became just a few more of those _casualties_ when the uprising began? What if they were rebelling against a lost cause?

She rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand as she noticed how Enjolras's hand had started trembling. Deep inside, she knew he feared the moment of truth as much as everyone else did.

"Whatever happens, I will be with you," she whispered quietly.

Enjolras looked at her with a small smile and kissed the top of her head. "There are things I have to do alone, 'Ponine."

Éponine shook her head. "Not this." She cupped his face in her hands. "I love you. Didn't you know that already?"

He let her kiss his lips softly, and closed his eyes for a second. Of course he would not allow Éponine to get anywhere near the barricade – but it would be useless to argue such a thing at that peaceful time in the morning.

Little did Enjolras know, however, that he would be able to do hardly anything to keep Éponine away from the barricade.

* * *

That night's meeting went just as usually. Éponine sat at a corner of the room, eating her dinner as the revolutionaries plotted and schemed their rebellious acts. Surprisingly enough, Courfeyrac and Gavroche were not there that night – which was rather strange, seeing that the former and Combeferre where the most essential parts of the society after Enjolras. Marius was sitting by himself, enthusiastically scribbling a letter for his new beloved with the occasional help of a cheery-looking Jehan, who recited his poetry excitedly as Grantaire poured him a little bit of his dear absinthe.

"Do you know anything new about Lamarque?" asked Enjolras to Combeferre.

The Philosophy student shook his head. "All newspapers have been banned from reporting about his health, or so I've heard. We shall only find out about him when he's dead."

Enjolras nodded. He then slammed his fist against the table to catch everyone's attention. As he had expected, everyone dropped what they were doing to turn and face their leader – except the gabbing Marius, of course.

"Listen, my friends!" said Enjolras. "The time of our uprising is near. So near, in fact, that it's stirring the blood in their veins." he disdainfully saw how Grantaire took another long gulp from his bottle of wine and knitted his eyebrows. "And yet, beware – do not let the wine go to your brains!"

"We know that, Enjolras," chuckled Grantaire. "Why won't you let us have a little bit of fun?"

Enjolras frowned. "There is no time for amusement right now, Grantaire," he scowled.

"Well I'm sure _you_ have fun with Éponine," said the drunkard, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Éponine, who was sitting at the corner of the room, felt how her cheeks turned red. A couple of the _Amis_ chuckled softly, although most of them were smart enough to fall silent – knowing Enjolras, Grantaire would be lucky if he didn't start yelling. Then again, Enjolras and Grantaire's had always been a rather curious friendship.

"Grantaire, I assume you are speaking nonsense because you have ingested too much alcohol," said Enjolras quietly, trying to keep himself collected. "But I will not tell you again – _sit down and be quiet_."

Grantaire rolled his eyes and reluctantly took a seat next to Marius, watching distractedly how the swept up lover pondered over the words of love he would use to address his dear Cosette. Enjolras shook his head disbelievingly at the drunkard and the lover, and crossed his arms as he addressed the rest of his men, "I completely ignore if any of you has a beloved, mistress or whatever the name you want to give them, but for the billionth time I will tell you that I do not care about your personal matters. We are here to talk of revolution, not pretty blondes." He glared at Marius as he said this, although the other man was so engrossed in writing his poem that he hardly bothered to answer.

"Now, about today's news," said Combeferre. "They say Lamarque's cholera is getting worse. I do not know what are we going to do when he dies – he is the only one who dares to speak for the people."

"Well, it is plain to see what we're going to do!" exclaimed Feuilly enthusiastically. "We will uprise against the monarchy, won't we? That's what Enjolras and you have been telling us for the past months!"

Enjolras massaged his temples, closing his eyes for a second. "We have to plan everything, we cannot simply start a barricade just because we feel like it. We will need time, and Lamarque might die sooner than what we've expected."

"From what I've heard, he has a very bad case of cholera," commented Joly. As the only medical student in their society, the _Amis_ relied on their hypochondriac friend when it came to medical matters. "Perhaps he won't even last the week."

Enjolras heard how Marius let out a long sigh as he breathed in the scent of the handkerchief in his hands, with a _C.F._ embroidered onto it. The leader of the rebellion rolled his eyes. Although he could no longer blame Marius for being in love with Cosette – as Enjolras could say he himself was in love now – he could not help but find his lovesick friend's mourning terribly annoying.

"She's the most beautiful woman I have ever met," he heard Marius tell Grantaire, who listened with a smirk on his face. "Her lips are red, not unlike the colour of desire – and I always feel how my world goes black if she's not there."

Enjolras sighed and eyed Éponine in search for some help with his lovesick friend. The girl shrugged and smiled happily as she nibbled on a piece of cheese, mouthing, 'he's just like that'. Enjolras chuckled and gave her a small wink before turning to scold Marius.

"Marius, you are no longer a child," he said decisively. "I know that you mean it well, but we all have our personal affairs and we're still here, focused on the cause. Would you please leave that letter right now?"

Marius sighed. "There are no news, Enjolras. At least I am doing something productive with my time."

"Yes, because gabbing over a woman is so completely productive," chuckled Grantaire as he poured himself some absinthe.

Enjolras crossed his arms as he shook his head disbelievingly. His friend was definitely a lost cause. He turned around to face the rest of the _Amis_ and said, "Well, seeing that Pontmercy is too swept up in his own love affairs, we shall discuss our plan without him."

"What happens if the people don't stir?" asked Bossuet from his seat next to Feuilly. "What if the people are too scared to fight with us?"

"The people _will_ uprise," quipped Combeferre. "They will come when we call."

Everyone remained silent for a few moments, the words of their leader and their guide sinking in. Most of them took the idea of a rebellion with enthusiasm, although some of them, however, couldn't help but eye their leader sceptically as they silently told themselves that something was ought to go wrong were they to uprise after Lamarque's death.

"Lamarque's funeral day would be the ideal time to start the uprising," said Enjolras finally. "But then again, we do not know – "

Enjolras was cut by a door slamming open. Courfeyrac and Gavroche rushed inside, the little boy sweating and breathing heavily from a long run and the older with a solemn, dark expression set across his face. Everyone turned around to look at both of them – this time even Marius tore his eyes off his paper and Grantaire momentarily dropped his bottle of absinthe.

Courfeyrac glanced at the little boy and exclaimed, "Listen everybody!"

"General Lamarque's dead!" announced Gavroche, who did not seem to be entirely aware of the importance of the news he was delivering.

Everyone in the room fell silent. Combeferre's face went white, and Enjolras felt how his chest tightened – he had always known that Lamarque would die soon, but he had never expected to get the news of his death so quickly. He felt a mixture of feelings whirling around in his chest – confusion, anger, determination and strangely enough, fear. Enjolras had never been one to fear, but this time he knew not being afraid would be downright foolish.

He felt how Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder and was dragged back into reality. He gazed around at his friends, at little Gavroche, at Éponine – oh, for Pete's sake, he shouldn't be thinking about Éponine. And yet he saw her whitened expression, how she had dropped the piece of bread she had been eating only a few moments ago . . . he gave her a reassuring smile and briefly closed his eyes to ponder what was he going to say next. His friends wanted him to be a leader, but all he could think of right then was Éponine's horrified expression.

"His death is the hour of fate," said Enjolras finally, back to his serious, relentless tone. "He was the people's man, and it is only proper that we uprise against this abominable government on his funeral day. We will honor his name by kindling the flame of the rebellion – they will see that our new world is near!"

"The time is near!" exclaimed Courfeyrac. "Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer."

"Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts!" followed Combeferre.

"And what about the people?" asked Grantaire, still sounding as sceptical as usually.

"They will come one and all," said Enjolras firmly. "They will come when we call."

The room suddenly broke into a chorus of urgent whispers and excited voices. The _Amis_ roamed around the room with thrilled expressions on their faces. Feuilly and Jehan merrily discussed how excited they were about the uprising, whilst Bossuet and Joly worriedly talked about how they would have to tell Musichetta about it. Marius was frowning deeply, wondering if he should tell his beloved about the upcoming battle, while Combeferre stood by the door with Courfeyrac, his face white.

"Anything the matter, my friend?" asked Enjolras to the Philosophy student as Gavroche ran up to greet Éponine.

Combeferre gazed at his shoes. "I don't know how I'll tell Marion . . . I – what if I'm to die at the battle? What will she do?"

Enjolras gazed up at his friend and, for the first time, saw fear in Jean-Jacques Combeferre's blue eyes. The Philosophy student had always been their guide, Enjolras's closest friend and the wittiest man he had ever met. He couldn't imagine fighting without him, but at the same time knew that he couldn't force him into battle if he had a fiancé and an unborn child to take care of.

"Look, Combeferre," he said quietly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you want to stay home, I'll understand – "

"What? No!" exclaimed Combeferre. "I want to fight. I always have, and I always will. After all, we all have our beloveds waiting at home, don't we?" Combeferre nodded towards Marius. "See, Pontmercy has Cosette. Joly and Bossuet have Musichetta, and you – well, you have 'Ponine." Enjolras started shaking his head quickly, but Combeferre merely snorted. "Don't try to deny it, Enjolras. You love Éponine as much as I love Marion, or as much as Marius loves Cosette. It's just you've never been one to show your emotions – and I suppose that's all right, but when the time comes you will have to let her know that you love her and that you'll come back home to her."

"And what in the bloody hell do you think I will do tonight when we get back home?" hissed Enjolras, knitting his eyebrows. He released his friend's shoulder and crossed his arms. "Look – we need you here, but you are free to do whatever you please."

"Enjolras – " started Courfeyrac, in an attempt to calm his friend down.

"No," said the leader sharply as he turned around, steering away from his two closest friends.

He angrily pulled out a chair and took a seat at the corner of the backroom of the café. The truth behind his sudden anger was that he had only just realized that he would have to leave Éponine, and that God knew if he would ever see her again. He knew it was completely selfish of him, but the sole thought of not being able to kiss her lips or see her smile made his chest tighten and wonder if he was_ truly_ ready to die for the cause.

"Hi."

He looked up to find Éponine looking at him. She wasn't smiling as usually, but had a sad expression set across her face. It broke Enjolras's heart to see her that way, but at the same time he knew that he could do nothing to lessen her bereaving.

"_Bonjour_," he said quietly as she pulled out a chair. He reached out to caress her cheek slowly as he said, "Today's meeting has been a bit – busy."

Éponine sighed, placing her hand on his. She knew that she wanted to help at the uprising, but at the same time saw such a devastated gleam on Enjolras's eyes at the moment that she somehow knew that it was not the moment to discuss it. "Do you want to go home?"

Enjolras looked up and saw that Marius, Bossuet and Joly had already left, and that Combeferre was muttering goodbye to everyone as he yanked his coat from the perch. It was already quite late, and Enjolras knew that they had four long days ahead of them until Lamarque's funeral – they would all need a lot of rest to be on their full senses.

"Yes," he finally answered. He stood up, offering her his arm. "I'm awfully tired. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day and I want to be ready for it."

Éponine nodded, taking his arm. She planted a soft kiss on his cheek and nuzzled against his shoulder. "Let's go."

They both said quick goodbyes to the remaining _Amis_ and walked out to the street. Unlike most evenings, they hardly spared a word – they were both too engrossed in their own thoughts. When they were already at the doorway of Enjolras's house, he looked at Éponine with the most serious expression he could muster.

"Éponine, promise me something," he said quietly.

The girl furrowed her brow at him, knowing what he was likely to ask. However, she answered, "Whatever you want, Enjolras."

"Promise me you won't do anything silly during the uprising," he said. "Please."

"Oh." she mused. She gazed up at Enjolras for a second, and then nodded quietly. "I – I promise."

For the first time that evening, Enjolras smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead before pushing the door of the flat open. Éponine quietly followed him inside, feeling how a whirlwind of emotions crept up her chest. She had made a promise to him.

Of course, she did not count dying by her beloved's side as something silly.

* * *

**I'm terribly sorry for the super-late update! I've been as busy as ever and I am afraid I will be for the next few weeks too. I believe I will not be able to update at least until the beginning of March – but at least I can promise a few more regular updates after that. After doing some math I have calculated that I will hopefully have this story done towards the end of April or beginning of May. So yeah, I suppose that's quite a lot of time for nine chapters, but that's what you get from a GCSE student writer. *sad chuckling***

**Now, I am just curious – I've had an idea nagging at the back of my head for a while now, and it's an E/É WWII AU. I'm just curious – would you guys read it? Or would you rather have a sequel to this story, if I am able to pull something good out of it? Or both? Or maybe some other kind of AU? I really don't know.**

**Well, anyway – Courf and his three kittens ask you to review for a preview. Won't you do it for Courfey and his kittens? c:**

**E x**


	12. In My Life – A Heart Full Of Love

**Chapter Twelve**

_In which Enjolras quotes Plato and Gavroche is worried again_

...

Lamarque's death, as Enjolras had predicted, changed absolutely everything. The uprising would take place on Lamarque's funeral day in three days' time. Enjolras could hardly believe they were actually so close to what they had been planning for months, that he was now ought to lead all of his friends to a battle they were not going to come out unscathed, whether did they win or not. Things would change over the next few days – and oh, they _would_ change more than Enjolras had ever expected.

And so the following morning, Enjolras woke up alone in the bed.

At first he looked around confusedly, rubbing the back of his head. He could very well remember holding Éponine's sleepy body the night before, but now she was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she was preparing breakfast or maybe she was just thirsty –

When he heard a muffled cry coming from the living room, he leaped out of bed, still in his sleeping pants and his chest bare, and rushed to the source of the sobbing. He found Éponine crying quietly on the sofa, curled into a ball and with her hands covering her face.

"'Ponine!" he exclaimed, hurrying towards the girl. "'Ponine, are you all right?"

She looked up at him, her eyes red from crying and still brimmed with tears. She didn't like it when people saw her cry, but she couldn't hold it anymore. She had barely slept that night, feeling Enjolras's breath against the back of her neck and thinking of how he would be gone in three days' time. The sole sight of the face of the man she now knew she loved made her want to shatter into tiny pieces. She knew he would not return if the uprising took place – the students would build their own graves at the barricades.

"I – " she choked. She knew that she was being selfish – she just wanted to keep Enjolras for herself. "Don't do it. Don't go."

Enjolras's brow furrowed as he let out a short sigh. He looked at Éponine straight in the eye, cupping her face in his hands. He studied her beautiful, now clean face and her stunning brown eyes and thought of how things had changed ever since they had first met, only a few months before. Enjolras's heart somehow felt warmer, kinder now – more human, even. He looked at her and found the real reason behind his fighting – he wanted to help Éponine, he wanted to give her the best life he could offer her. And wouldn't a new, better world bring her more happiness than the cold, dark one they currently lived in?

He offered her a sad smile as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. "You know I have to go, my dear."

"You will only get yourselves killed," she whispered, feeling how her eyes watered again at the thought of seeing not only Enjolras's dead body, but also the rest of the Amis'. "I don't want you to die."

"I will try not to," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll come back, I promise."

Éponine gazed away from his intense blue eyes, feeling as tiny and lost as ever. "How do you know?"

Enjolras closed his eyes for a second. In fact, he did not know if he was going to come back or not – but at that time, the only thing he could worry about was Éponine's safety. He gently wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple, resting his forehead against hers.

"Of course I do not know," he whispered. "But I can't die. Not without seeing you again."

Éponine looked up at him with tears brimming her brown eyes. As her hand brushed against his cheek, she whispered, "I love you, Enjolras."

The boy was initially startled by Éponine's words, and quietly studied her expression with his brow furrowed. He couldn't help but feel how a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he realized that Éponine had just spoken the words he most longed to hear – that she loved him. Before he could think it twice, he whispered, "I love you too, 'Ponine."

He kissed the tip of her nose, pulling her into an embrace. The girl rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes and letting his warm, strong hands stroke her back calmly. They remained silent for several minutes, until Enjolras whispered, "When is your birthday?"

She looked up at him with a confused expression. "My birthday?" Enjolras nodded calmly as he rested his head on the back of the couch. The girl smiled gently and said, "Tenth of June."

Enjolras smiled. "I'll make sure to get you something nice."

"It'll be more than enough to have you back home, safe and sound," she muttered.

"That too, of course," said Enjolras, offering her a small smile.

Éponine brushed her hand against her cheek and said, "You've changed, Enjolras. You're not the same boy I met back in March."

Enjolras shrugged, "_At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet_."

"Who said that?" asked the girl, a slight smirk playing on her face.

Enjolras allowed himself to smile just a little. "Plato."

And with that, they both fell into a comfortable silence as they watched how the sun quietly rose over the Parisian skyline. It was the second of June, three days before the uprising – three days before their lives changed forever.

But for the time being, feeling each other's warmth was more than enough for both of them.

* * *

The third of June was a sunny, warm day. The slums of Saint Michel were crammed with people. Prostitutes dabbing their sweaty foreheads begging for a fresh place to sit in, little boys desperately clinging onto wealthier men's summer shirts, begging for a cup of water. Enjolras had left Éponine and Azelma enjoying a small breakfast back in his apartment, and he was now making his way down the _rue_ that led him to the Musain.

"M'sieur, m'sieur!" he felt how a tiny hand tugged on the corners of his shirt and looked down to find a little boy glancing up at him, with a childish pout forming on his tiny lips and his hands firmly clasped around the bourgeois's shirt's fabric. The boy looked no older than six or seven, and had his whole face smeared in what seemed like dirt, with his teeth yellowed by the lack of mouth care and his greasy brown hair sticking to his round, childish face drenched in sweat.

"What do you want?" asked Enjolras, not unkindly. He saw how the little boy quickly retreated away from him and averted his eyes, and realized that an involuntary glare had scared him off. The Law student slowly approached the child and said, more calmly, "What's your name, little man?"

"N-Navet, m'sieur," said the little boy quickly, almost stuttering. He fidgeted with the fabric of his ragged, oddly cream-coloured shirt and gazed down. "My friend 'Vroche's tol' me to come fetch ya."

Enjolras crossed his arms. "Gavroche? Gavroche Thénardier?"

The little boy shrugged. "Ain't that the only 'Vroche in Paris?" he asked matter-of-factly.

In a normal occasion, Enjolras would have kindly explained to the little boy that there were in fact quite a few urchins who had been nicknamed 'Gavroche' in the streets of Paris, but finally chose to keep his speech to himself and merely nod. "And what would Gavroche want from me today?"

"I dunno," answered the boy, now crossing his arms nervously. "He's just told me to go fetch ya. So follow me, m'sieur." Enjolras, despite the child's poor manners, had to laugh at his biting determination. With a nod, the Law student followed the little _gamin_ down the streets.

He soon found himself walking past Saint-Lazare on his way to Les Halles. The streets were now littered with people coming and going from their homes to their workplaces, children returning from school or young wealthy ladies having a stroll with their friends. Enjolras's eyebrow involuntarily knitted when one of them smiled cheekily at him, elbowing her friend as the two of them set into a fit of girly giggles.

"Mad'mes are so stupid, aren't they?" asked the little boy distractedly, as the taller girl fanned her face and winked at Enjolras.

Enjolras sighed as he involuntarily rolled his eyes. "Indeed they are, Navet."

The little boy smirked. "But 'Vroche's told me you've smooched his big sis."

The older man couldn't hold back a small smile as he shook his head. "That, young man, is none of your business."

When they arrived at Gavroche's wooden elephant, Enjolras gazed up in a moment of silent awe as he saw the giant wooden structure standing almost ten times as tall as himself until he felt how a tiny hand, though not as tiny as Navet's, tugged on his shirt sleeve.

"Enjy."

Enjolras looked down to find Gavroche looking at him with a solemn expression. Of all the occasions in which Enjolras had encountered the third Thénardier child, he had only seen him with such a straight, stony face once – and it had been the night Éponine had disappeared from her father's house. Although being only eleven, Gavroche was wise beyond his years, very much like the rest of the Amis de L'ABC – and so Enjolras decided to offer him the utmost attention as the little boy cleared his throat seriously.

"Courf's told me that the war's gonna start during Lamarque's funeral procedure – " began the boy.

"_Procession_, Gavroche," pointed out Enjolras before he could hold the comment back.

The boy nodded quickly as he waved his hands. "Yeah, yeah, _procession_. Well, the thing is you know I wanna go with you, 'cos the Amis are my friends and my big brothers," the boy blurted that bit as quickly as he could manage, as he felt a little embarrassed about the way he looked up at the Amis de L'ABC. "But 'Zelma's tol' me she thinks 'Ponine wants to join too, and she can't."

Enjolras crossed his arms at the mention of Éponine. He narrowed his eyes curiously, trying to gather any hints of willingness to fight the girl might have shown lately, but he could not find any except for her more than reasonable worry about him.

"She is smart, Gavroche," he said finally. "She knows well enough that she is ought to steer clear of the barricades. Besides, she has to stay home with Azelma. Who would take care of her otherwise? She's still quite wounded."

Gavroche winced lightly at the mention of his injured sister, but shook his head. "I saw 'Zelma today and she told me that 'Ponine wanted to fight. That's all I know and all you should care about."

Enjolras looked at the little boy with a serious expression. Whether did the little boy know as a fact that his sister intended to join the revolution or not, he did not know, but he was very sure of one thing – he would not let Éponine near the barricade, not even in her wildest dreams. He crouched until his eyes were leveled with Gavroche, and nodded just as solemnly as the boy had looked at him earlier.

"I will keep her safe, Gavroche," he said. "I promise. As long as I live she shall be in no harm."

For the first time that day, Gavroche beamed, his usual bubbly self momentarily showing off. "Really? You will?"

The Law student nodded. "I swear to God almighty that I will protect her life with my own."

"That sounded just too posh, Enji," laughed the little boy.

Enjolras chuckled, patting Gavroche on the back. "Perhaps."

The two of them, feeling like they were allowed to share a momentarily laugh, chuckled together.

In that moment, little did Enjolras know that he would have to fulfill the promise he had made to God and the brother of his beloved sooner than he would have ever expected.

* * *

**Okay I'm so so sorry for the late update! I've just finished my last exams and I swear I've never been busier in my whole life. Well anyway, There you go! I am terribly, _terribly_ sorry about not having replied to some reviews (I always try to, I promise!) but I have been really busy lately so I only just finished typing the actual thing, ergo I thought PMing you people the preview just a few minutes before the update would be kind of pointless. But yeah, I promise I will reply to every single one of your reviews tomorrow or as soon as you drop one!**

**As for the story – I'm going to skip 'On My Own' and kind of throw it all into a single chapter with 'One Day More' because I honestly can't think of any good chapter plots, besides I'd like to have more time to develop the whole barricade fight and such instead of rushing it all towards the end. So yeah, next chapter will be the night before the revolution!**

**On a random note, I _did_ change my pen name. c:**

**Navet and Gavroche and their wooden elephant are telling me to ask you to review!**

**E x**


	13. One Day More

**Chapter Thirteen**

_In which the three Thénadier children share a conversation and Enjolras is pulled off his worries for one night_

...

"But that's downright _insane_!" screamed Azelma.

Enjolras glared at the thirteen-year-old scornfully as he took a spoonful of his oatmeal.

"No, 'Zelma, it's not," said Éponine patiently. The younger girl knitted her brow at her older sister, and Éponine explained, "It's a revolution."

"That's not a revolution," mumbled Azelma. "The 1789 revolution was. The people of France fought the king, not just a group of foolish bourgeois." She glared at Enjolras, momentarily regretting her words. After all, she did not mean to hurt the student's ideals or to make him feel uncomfortable – but she had only just learned of Éponine wanting to participate in his stupid rebellion and she was not going to accept that.

"The people will come when we call," said Enjolras simply, deciding he did not want to argue with a thirteen-year-old, him being almost ten years older.

"And what if you get killed before you _can_ call them?" countered Azelma in a venomous tone.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at the girl. "You know nothing of revolution, young lady."

"And you know nothing of the low class's suffering!" she exclaimed indignantly, slamming her spoon against the plate.

Enjolras eyed Éponine. "For God's sake, 'Ponine, your sister is one hell of a tough cookie."

The girl smiled a little despite the serious context of their conversation. She knew that Azelma had had plenty of time to learn History and Literature lately, with all the hours she had spent roaming around Enjolras's house. She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and looked at her with the well-known expression of 'well talk about this later'. Azelma, though reluctant to drop the subject, obediently averted Enjolras's annoyed eyes and gazed down at her oatmeal.

After a few minutes of silent munching and curious glances, Enjolras stood up and looked at the two girls with a serious expression.

"I'm going to the Musain," he said quietly. "I fear I won't be able to make it back home until late in the night – so feel free to make dinner and go to bed whenever you please."

Éponine nodded quietly, feeling how he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and nodded at Azelma before yanking his jacket from the sofa and walking out of the small apartment. When the two sisters were left alone in the quiet of the house, Azelma eyed her sister sadly.

"You're not going to let him do this alone, are you?"

Éponine looked at her with a sad expression and shook her head. "You know I cant."

Azelma felt how tears stung in her eyes as she stared at her sister miserably. It was not fair – she knew that they were not going to come out of the uprising alive, but she usually kept her thoughts to herself given Enjolras's rather bad mood and how Éponine blindly believed in everything he said. She angrily took another spoonful of oatmeal, feeling how the first tears started flowing out of her eyes.

"You can't die," she whispered. "You and Gavroche can't die."

"Gavroche?" asked Éponine confusedly.

"Oh," whispered Azelma quickly. "Never mind."

But Éponine had already grabbed her wrist. Azelma looked up at her older sister, feeling how her stomach dropped – what was she going to do without her? Without Gavroche, or Enjolras even? They were now the only family she had left.

"Surely Gavroche doesn't think I will let him go to the barricade, does he?" asked Éponine with a deadly serious tone.

"'Snot like you can stop him," answered Azelma gruffly as she tried to shake her sister off. Éponine, however, gripped her wrist tighter, causing the tears to flow out of her eyes even faster and yelp, "You're hurting me!"

Éponine immediately loosened her grip around her sister's wrist. "I'm sorry, 'Zelma," she whispered. "But Gavroche can't go."

"I don't want either of you to go," she muttered.

Éponine smiled sadly, pulling her little sister into an embrace. As she let the thirteen-year-old sob onto her shoulder freely, the older Thénardier tousled her hair, quietly wondering if she really was brave enough to stay with Enjolras until the end. She _wanted_ to be, but the truth was that she had no bloody idea.

"I have to go with him, 'Zelma," she said. "Remember when you asked me if I love him?" she felt how the younger girl nodded against her shoulder and Éponine bit her lip before whispering, "Well, I do."

Despite the situation, Azelma felt how a smile formed on her lips. "That's great, 'Ponine." then she looked up at her older sister and beamed. "You know he loves you too, don't you?"

Éponine felt how her cheeks blushed. "He might have picked up the subject once or twice, I don't know."

Azelma grinned, her eyebrows wriggling cheekily. "I bet you two have done _many__ things_ together."

"What!" exclaimed Éponine, covering her mouth with her face. "No, of course we haven't! You – you little misfit – "

The younger girl laughed heartily, having completely forgotten about the issues tormenting her only a few minutes ago. Éponine smiled too, caressing her little sister's hair with a relaxed expression.

A second later, they heard how someone knocked the door. Éponine scrambled to her feet and walked to the apartment door, groggily asking who was it, to which a childish voice replied brightly,

"'Ow do you do? My name's Gavroche!"

Just as the girl opened the door, the ten-year-old leaped onto his sister's arms, laughing happily. The girl smiled too, patting his dirty blond hair as he filled her in on his everyday adventures.

"And d'you know what Courf just told me?" he asked excitedly. "There's gon' be loads of people joinin' us tomorrow – "

Éponine eyed her brother sternly as he placed him on the couch. "What do you mean, _joining__ you_?"

"Well, the uprisin' – " started the little boy, excitedly clasping his hands together as he moved his little limbs nervously. "You know, it's tomorrow. Thought Enjolras would've told ya."

"Of course I know the uprising is tomorrow," said Éponine, a bit exasperatedly. "What I mean is you're not going with them."

Gavroche frowned, crossing his arms. "I am."

Éponine shook her head. "No, _you're not_," she said crossly. She knelt to Gavroche's sight, eyeing her brother carefully. "Look, 'Vroche – you're only ten years old. A barricade isn't a place where ten-year-olds should be."

"Oh, but you're allowed to go with Enjolras, aren't you?" replied the boy crossly. "That's not fair."

The older girl frowned. "You're not going."

"If I'm not going, you aren't either," decided the boy shortly, shaking his head firmly. "If you want me to stay put, fine – but I'll go tell Enjolras that you want to join and I'll make sure he locks you inside this flat forever and ever."

Éponine bit her lip, glaring angrily at her little brother, who oddly enough smiled with satisfaction. She didn't know what to do – it was common knowledge between the Amis that Gavroche was just as tough as his sisters, and perhaps even a bit more of a hothead than Éponine. Something told her that, if she did not agree, he would find a way to tell Enjolras what she was up to – and still manage to make his way to the barricade. But she couldn't simply let him put himself in such a risk.

She finally decided that she couldn't argue with him.

"Well," she sighed. "Promise me you'll stay safe while you're there."

Gavroche grinned.

"Well, fine, I promise," he said happily, hopping off the sofa. "Same goes for you, 'Ponine."

She let out a sigh, studying her little brother's apparently calm expression as he walked off to greet a sad Azelma. The girl immediately cheered up at the sight of her younger brother, and leaped forward to envelop the ten-year-old with one of her loving hugs. Éponine listened to their conversation with a mild attention, glancing around the room and wondering what to do with her rebellious little brother. She most definitely would not have him anywhere near the barricades. But then again, _she_ wasn't supposed to go either – and yet she felt determined to stay by Enjolras's side until the very end.

A little later, Gavroche announced that he and Azelma were going to meet the other urchins down the street to play for a little while. Éponine couldn't say no, and hastily waved goodbye to her little siblings as they both kissed her goodbye.

"I'll be back for lunch," said Azelma.

"Me too!" added Gavroche cheekily.

Éponine smiled, ruffling his hair. "Off you go, you little misfit."

Gavroche beamed at her one last time before sauntering off behind Azelma. Éponine stared at the door they had left ajar with a miserable expression. Now she was completely alone in a house that was not her own – because although Enjolras wanted to make her feel at home, which she greatly appreciated, she did _not_ feel like it was her true, only house. It was not like she had felt completely at home back at the Thénardiers anyway. What Éponine had always longed, more than three square meals a day and nice clothes, was a place to call her real home.

And of course, in that moment Éponine felt lonely. As she wandered around the empty apartment, she wondered what would she do that night when Enjolras came back. Would she tell him her plan, or would she lie to him? She did not know what to do. For God's sake, she didn't even know how was she going to sneak into the barricade.

Hanging from a small perch she found one of Enjolras's old caps and examined it quietly. She wondered when had he worn it, when had he bought it – had it been his before he started at university, before his life had started revolving around revolution? Had his father bought it for him, or had he bought it with his own money? The sole thought of having that old cap abandoned inside the apartment, along with the rest of his possessions, made Éponine's eyes water.

She did not want to let go of him. She loved him so much it hurt her. She _wouldn't_ let go of him – no, most definitely, she would not.

Involuntarily, almost surreptitiously, she made her way to Enjolras's bedroom. She miserably thought of how it might be the last time they would sleep there – the two of them together, at least. She rummaged through Enjolras's old clothes, those he hadn't bothered wearing for months, years even – she didn't quite know what she was doing, but the only thing that crossed her mind was that she needed to get an old shirt and trousers no-one would recognize her with.

When she had them, she picked up a few hair pins Combeferre had bought for her. She pulled the brownish trousers and the creamy shirt on, and once she had her hair in a loose bun she covered her head with the cap. She looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror, and found someone who could have very easily been mistaken for a clean-faced street urchin.

As she observed her now-masculinized body, she realized what she wanted to do. What she _had_ to do.

If she had to die in order to stay by Enjolras's side, so be it.

* * *

Enjolras arrived home even later than usually that day, and without Combeferre's company to comfort him on his way back home. The Philosophy student, despite living only a few houses away from him, had left the Musain early in order to see his fiancé and, of course, the baby she was carrying inside her. Enjolras had stayed behind with Grantaire and Courfeyrac for a little while, but in the end he had decided he needed to go back home. Truth be told, he had too much on his mind right then – all he wanted to do was to get back home and see Éponine.

He chuckled at that last thought – was he _really _becoming that sort of man?

As he opened the door, he supposed he was.

He peered inside and found Éponine curled up in his bed, a peaceful expression on her face. Enjolras smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed and tousled her brown hair. She looked so calm and sweet when she was asleep Enjolras felt simply blessed by such an endearing sight.

The girl opened her eyes groggily a second later, looking at Enjolras with a sleepy smile.

"Go back to sleep, love," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

Éponine shook her head gently as she leaned forward, until their noses almost touched. "Surely you don't expect me to fall asleep when I know you might not come back after tomorrow?"

Enjolras averted his eyes with a sad expression as he tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. "Don't say that. I'll come back. I'll try."

But Éponine could do nothing but shake her head. "Just in case, then."

Her lips searched for his as she closed her eyes, and Enjolras slowly leaned in for the kiss. It was not like any other kiss they had shared before – their teeth clattered almost instantly and their tongues met in an unknown passion. But still, it felt eerily good – even better than anything else, really.

Enjolras felt how Éponine's hand traveled up and down his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He meekly pulled her closer by her middle and started loosening her nightgown laces, and when he could almost feel her naked skin under the light summer nightgown, he momentarily pulled away from the kiss.

"Are you – are you sure you want to do this?" he breathed. He saw her sitting on her knees in the gloom of the unlit room and tried to hold back a sigh – at least he knew _he_ longed what they were about to do like nothing else.

Éponine nodded, feeling utterly unable to muse out a single word, and slowly leaned forward to kiss his neck. Enjolras had to bite his lip to hold back a moan as he caressed her bare skin with his hands.

He felt how she nibbled onto his earlobe as she whispered, "I love you."

He groaned, "I love you too, 'Ponine."

From that, neither of them would be able to tell what happened – it simply blossomed. Enjolras felt Éponine's lips on his, her skin against his own, his hands traveling up and down her back and hers on his middle, tugging onto his chest hair. Her kisses, her grins, her moans – _his_ kisses, _his_ grins,_ his _moans – it all came together as the greatest moment they had both experienced.

And so on the hours prior to the uprising, Enjolras made love to Éponine Thénardier for the first time.

* * *

**Well, there it goes – I don't have much to say, except that as you might have guessed I completely suck at writing sex scenes given my lack of experience on the topic. Anyway, I hope the chapter wasn't bad and sorry for the delay! It's three in the morning here and I don't even know what am I doing awake.**

**So yay, barricades next! Let's see who gets killed first. *evil laugh***

**And thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Unfortunately my PM system _still_ doesn't want to get off its lazy arse, so I haven't been able to PM the previews. I'm so so sorry! :(**

**Gavroche asks you to review. Won't you review for lil' 'Vroche?**

**E x**


	14. Do You Hear The People Sing?

**Chapter Fourteen**

_In which Enjolras shares a conversation and Marius babbles (again)_

...

"Do not move before Enjolras's signal," whispered Combeferre for the billionth time that morning. "I repeat, _do not move before Enjolras's signal_."

A group of enthusiastic students nodded excitedly, gabbing excitedly about the revolution yet to come and hardly listening to Combeferre's irritated words. Courfeyrac, feeling worried sick for everyone, walked around the Corinthe – which they had set as their headquarters for the uprising – and snatched a bottle of wine away from a pouting Grantaire. Feuilly, talking excitedly about the uprising to a few Polish students, somehow dragged Bossuet into the conversation, the unlucky student silently trying to decipher what the Polish boys were saying.

"This is utter chaos," mumbled Enjolras as he nudged Marius.

The other student looked up from the letter he was reading and nodded distractedly. "Uh, yes. Utter chaos."

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he cast a sideways glance towards Marius's letter. It was a scented purple paper – for God's sake, _who in this world delivered scented letters?_ – with a bright red ribbon decorating the top right-hand corner of the letter. Enjolras sighed and patted him on the back. "Beware, my friend."

"Sure, I will," mumbled Marius, engrossed in his reading. A moment later, he looked up at Enjolras with a huge smile on his face. "She says she loves me with all her heart, Enjolras!"

His eyes rolled for the second time that day. "I'm sure she does, Marius."

The red-haired student, having gone all bubbly after reading Cosette's letter, sauntered off to tell Joly all about his beloved. Enjolras sighed resignedly, knowing that at least the hypochondriac would be able to stand his lovesick rambling.

The leader of the revolution then strolled towards Combeferre, patting his good friend on the back. Combeferre had a weary, tired expression – and the uprising hadn't even begun yet.

"You should rest while you can, Combeferre," he said. "You've done your duty well."

Combeferre shook his head, glancing at Enjolras with a miserable expression. "It's not that." The Philosophy student glanced down at his hands and rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "Marion is expecting twins."

There was a short pause in which Enjolras looked at his friend with both surprise and worry in his eyes.

"Oh." that was all Enjolras was able to say. After hesitating for a second, he placed a gentle hand on Combeferre's shoulder. "I think I've already told you before – I won't make you stay, Combeferre. Knowing that there's your wife and two unborn children waiting for you at home, what kind of person would I be if I forced you into our crusade?"

"You would be my best friend, Enjolras," he chuckled sadly. "In fact, you have always been. All of you. All of the Amis have been my family for years now, and I can't leave you to die alone. If we have to die, so be it. But I won't live knowing that I could have somehow helped you and didn't because I was just scared."

"But Combeferre, it's two orphaned children and a young widow we're talking about," Enjolras insisted, a bit harshly. "What will they live from if you die? Marion and you aren't even _married_ yet, for God's sake."

"You have Éponine too," replied Combeferre, crossing his arms. "Surely you don't want to leave her alone in the world, either?"

Enjolras frowned impatiently. "Of course I don't, but it's not about Éponine anymore. We've got to liberate France. How would they do it without my leadership, Comebeferre? Who would be their leader? Lovesick Marius? Drunk Grantaire? Joly, who can't stand on his feet without complaining about germs?" Enjolras had involuntarily clenched his fists. "_I__ have to be here for them and France_, Combeferre."

The Philosophy student gave him a sad smile. "Then I must be here for them and France too, Enjolras. And for you, too."

Enjolras sighed resignedly. "Fine. Stay." he glanced up at his friend, a worried flicker in his eyes. "But please – try to survive. For Marion and the twins."

Combeferre nodded quietly and, after hesitating for a short moment, walked away. Just as he watched how his best friend started commanding a few young boys to finish getting their rifles ready, Enjolras couldn't help but knit his brow just a little bit. The truth was that he had no idea whether if they would make it from the barricade, but he had thought of that before – what was to come would come, and that was just as inexorable as the fact that he was going to fight until the very end.

Just as he crossed his arms, he felt how someone tapped him on the shoulder and turned around to find little Gavroche beaming up at him. He, however, was not smiling, which was something the little boy noticed within seconds.

"How ya doin', 'Jolras?" asked the youngster, his smile fading a little.

"What are you doing here, Gavroche?" asked the man, sternly looking down at him. "You're ought to be home with Éponine and Azelma."

Gavroche shrugged. "'Ponine wasn't home. 'Zelma wasn't, either. Anyway, I wanna be in the revolution."

Enjolras's frown deepened at the mention of Éponine's disappearance, but decided that it probably wasn't worth the worry. "Gavroche, go back home. Stay safe. Éponine would kill me if she ever knew I allowed you here."

However, the little boy seemed to ignore Enjolras words and, with an astounding determination, hopped onto a table and rose both of his arms as though saluting everyone in the room. A few of the students turned around and chuckled at the odd vision, but smiled at the little boy, who was now starting to sing softly.

"Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men?" said the boy, a proud smile on his face. "Singing the song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!"

Enjolras frowned and crossed his arms, glancing worriedly at Combeferre. His friend's blue eyes glanced from Gavroche to the bemused students, while Joly shook his head disapprovingly. Bahorel and Courfeyrac, however, were now cheering along with the little boy.

"When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums – !" continued Courfeyrac as Gavroche hopped onto his back.

"There is a life about to start when tomoooooorrow comes!" finished Bahorel, giving the last notes an unnecessary – but extremely comic – dramatic tone.

All of the students started laughing and chuckling between sonorous applauses. Combeferre chuckled loudly, and even Enjolras smiled a little. Grantaire, half-awakening from his drunk stupor, smiled half-heartedly at the little boy and the strange show the two students and Gavroche had made up within moments.

It was only a couple of hours before the uprising, but the students were now all smiling and content with what was coming ahead.

* * *

**I am so so sorry for the super late update! I've been as busy as hell lately and will be for the next few weeks. I'm moving to Barcelona, and with all that and my GCSE's I haven't been able to update for _ages_. So again, sorry for the delay and the short chapter! I promise I will try and update sooner.**

**E x**


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